A Delicate Balance
by Little Cinch
Summary: Carol and Daryl navigate the minefield that is their early relationship in a series of snapshot chapters. Rating for adult themes and language.
1. Quarry

**This will be a series of snapshots - each chapter is its own story, but they all explore the development of the relationship between Carol and Daryl. I'll keep putting these up until I can't think of any more or until I get bored and move on to something else. Let me know if there's something you'd like to see.**

**Trigger warning: reference to abuse and marital rape**

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><p><strong>Quarry<strong>

The bruises from the previous night were bad enough that Carol had to put on a cardigan despite the sweltering heat that was already pressing down on the camp. It had taken some doing, but she'd managed to get Sophia out of their tent for a few nights by talking Yolanda Morales into letting her daughter Leticia and Sophia have a sleepover. Ed, whose eye seemed to be drawn to the girl more and more every day, had been furious. He'd kept things quiet, but he'd been more careless than usual about where he left marks. The rest of the group seemed willing to turn a blind eye to the bruises she occasionally sported, but these were so obvious there was no way they would let it go. Especially that cop. So today she was nursing a sore shoulder and wearing a sweater when the temperature would no doubt top a hundred degrees later on. She would just have to be careful to stay out of the sun and drink extra water.

Her shoulder was too painful to allow her to take any more laundry down to the quarry lake, so she worked on pulling down what had already dried on the lines. She gathered it all up and sat near Dale's RV to sort and fold the pile – close enough to Ed that he could still see her, but far enough away that he'd have to come fetch her himself if he wanted her. Sometimes his laziness worked in her favor. She could keep an eye on Sophia and Carl and the Morales kids from here, too.

They'd been at the quarry campsite for several weeks now, and she mostly knew whose clothes were whose. Several piles built up around her as she sorted out the crisp laundry. The items she couldn't identify went into a separate pile that people could search through later if they were missing something. She'd been working for a while, and the heat was beginning to make her a little dizzy, so she stood up to take a break and get some water.

She stretched and walked to the fire pits where they kept the big coolers full of water that had already been boiled. She took a long drink and splashed a handful onto her head, wetting her hair and neck in an attempt to cool off a bit. If only there were a breeze, it wouldn't be quite so unbearable.

As she stood staring at the pattern the water drops made in the dust as they dripped from her hair, she heard someone approach from behind. She spun around, then took a step back in surprise. It was one of those Dixon brothers that had joined their camp last week. She'd not spoken with either one of them, but she'd kept a close eye on them both whenever they ventured over from their campsite. They were set up some distance from the rest of the group, and for that she was grateful. The one brother was loud, obnoxious, and seemed to delight in stirring up trouble. But it was the other brother standing in front of her now, the one who kept more to himself. His hands were covered in blood, and over his shoulder was a ...part... of an animal. A deer? There were ribs and only two legs, its head was gone, and it had been skinned and gutted, leaving only red muscle streaked with white in the general shape of what it had been in life. She backed away another step, overwhelmed by the smell of blood and meat in the cloying heat.

"You do cookin' for the camp?" He looked at her with guarded eyes, and something just shy of a sneer on his face.

"Sometimes," she mumbled, keeping her own eyes down and making sure she was several steps away from him since she knew Ed was probably watching. It was dangerous enough just talking to him.

"Got us a deer. We can't use it all 'fore it'll spoil in the heat, so you all might as well have it." He slung the carcass from his shoulder and held it out to her.

She looked around nervously, hoping to find someone else who could deal with this, but there was no one around. They'd all retreated from the heat.

She edged forward to take the deer from him, but snatched her hands back when his narrowed eyes locked onto the bruises on her wrist. Her sleeve had slipped up when she reached for the deer. Tugging her sleeves back down and clenching the ends in her fists, she backed away from him quickly. He made no move to follow or question her. He just watched her pull away with those narrow, cautious eyes.

Turning away, he tossed the carcass on the table that sat between the two fire pits, then headed for his own camp. She thought he threw one sidelong glance toward the tent where Ed was most likely watching her in a fury, but she wasn't sure. If he had, it would only fuel Ed's rage.

She found Amy and Jacqui in their tents and asked them to help her in deciding the best way to cook the venison that had been gifted to them. She needed to stay busy and avoid being alone. Their meal prep kept her occupied for a while, then she finished up sorting and delivering laundry while the venison stewed. She continued flitting around the camp the rest of the day, doing every little chore she could think of. That evening when the food was ready, she knew she had no choice but to return to the tent where Ed waited for her in his lawn chair, flicking cigarette ash into the still, stifling air.

After getting Sophia settled next to Carl and Lori with her dinner, Carol scooped up some of the venison stew and brought the bowls to the tent. She kept her eyes down and her ears open, alert for any cues that might tell her how angry Ed was. When he took the offered bowl without so much as a snide remark, she knew she was in trouble. She was grateful Sophia would be with the Morales family tonight so she wouldn't have to see or hear. Sinking down to sit on the ground next to his lawn chair, she ate her own stew with shaking hands, though she wasn't sure she would be able to keep it down.

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><p>After she was sure Ed had fallen asleep, she slipped silently from the tent. He'd been particularly vicious tonight as she'd feared. Once she'd gotten far enough down the road to the quarry lake, she let the sobs come, though she tried to keep as quiet as possible – she knew she was taking a risk coming out here alone, but she needed to nurse her injuries.<p>

There was enough light from the nearly full moon that she was able to walk the road without stumbling. When she finally reached the lake, she had mostly cried herself out. She pulled out the cloth she'd brought with her, and wet it with the cold spring water. Gently lifting her shirt, she pressed the cloth to her ribs, shuddering when it made contact with the bruised and abraded skin. She continued her makeshift cold compress, doing her best to ease the various hurts. Finally she gave up. Stripping off her clothes, she walked straight into the lake, washing her skin and letting the cold water numb the pain in her ribs, her shoulder, her back, and between her legs. She stayed in the water until her teeth began to chatter. Realizing she had no way to dry herself off, she climbed naked onto one of the rocks that jutted out into the water. The stone still held heat from baking in the sun all day – it felt good on her cold hands and feet. She sat for a long time, letting herself drip dry as much as the humid Georgia night would allow.

The longer she stayed out here, the more chance there was that Ed would wake and discover her missing. So she gathered up her clothes and dressed, fabric clinging stubbornly to her damp, tender skin. Slowly, she trudged back up the road toward camp.

When she was about halfway up the hill, a voice in the dark startled her. It took all her self-control to keep from screaming.

"The hell you think you're doin' out here in the middle of the night? Ain't you got a brain in your head?" It was that Dixon man again. He stepped out from the trees to her right, crossbow in hand.

She backed away from him and didn't offer an answer to either question.

"You deaf? The hell are you doin' out here?"

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

"Don't 'sorry' me – don't care if you're sorry. What the hell're you doin'?" His voice stayed soft, but an edge of irritation had crept in.

"I-" She had no idea what to say. "It doesn't matter. I'm heading back now."

He snorted and eyed her in the moonlight, taking in her wet hair and the careful way she moved. Sighing, he said, "C'mon. I'll walk you."

She moved another step back from him. "Please – it's OK. I don't want to be any trouble."

He shifted his crossbow onto his shoulder. "Shit, I just don't wanna get stuck lookin' for your ass, ya get yourself lost. Now hustle it up. Ain't got the patience of a damn saint, ya know."

She studied him from under her lashes. Finally, she looked back at her feet and nodded. He huffed rudely, then turned on his heel and started up the road, not waiting to see if she followed. He moved so fast, she was winded by the time they reached the outer edge of camp, each breath sending searing pain through her ribs.

He watched her as she caught up the last few yards, wearing the same expression he'd had that afternoon when he saw her wrist. She shifted her weight uncomfortably and tried not to let on how painful it was just to breathe.

"Thank you. I can go alone from here," she whispered, trying to keep him as far from Ed's tent as possible.

He cleared his throat and looked away, out over the open quarry. "You be OK?"

She knew he didn't mean the walk back to the tent.

Biting her lip hard to keep from saying anything, she simply nodded. He looked back to her, catching the movement in the corner of his eye. After a pause, he gave a sharp dip of his head and took off in the direction of his own camp.

She watched him go until she lost sight of him in the darkness between the trees before returning to her husband's tent to wait out the rest of the night.


	2. CDC

**There's a story out there called _First Times_ by JoeyLee that I really like. There was a chapter (3?) that I particularly loved that took place at the CDC. I haven't been able to shake it out of my head, and this one borrows heavily from the idea of that chapter. I hope I haven't stepped on any toes.  
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**Go check out _First Times_ if you haven't read it already. It's awesome.**

**Reminder: this is a series of snapshots, so don't expect each chapter to pick up where the last one left off! I promise no cliffhangers.  
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**BTW, I do not own any of this stuff - characters, situations, locations, what have you. I just like to tell stories for fun.  
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><p><strong>CDC<strong>

After months of unrelenting fear, the relief they all felt over their salvation at the CDC made their celebratory dinner with Dr. Jenner a giddy affair. The wine made it a somewhat rowdy one. Having enough food to actually feel _full_ was a joy in itself. Most everyone was at least a little tipsy from the wine, but Carol had stuck with water so there was at least one sober head around to keep the kids out of trouble. She sat back and enjoyed watching everyone teasing each other and laughing as the wine did its work - the group loosened up and had some fun.

The party wound down, though, after Shane started pushing Jenner for answers. No one was in the mood to celebrate after that. So they gathered up their things and were shown to their new rooms. They were small but might as well have been a five star hotel compared to what they were used to lately. And hot showers? Carol didn't think there could be anything more precious in the world right then. She let Sophia shower first, then sent her on to the rec room to play games with Carl.

Stripping off her grubby clothes, she stepped under the warm spray and nearly cried from the sheer pleasure of it. She scrubbed herself from head to toe with actual soap and shampoo in hot, clean water that didn't smell of mud or fish or leave grit in her hair. God, it was glorious!

A thumping sound startled her out of her reverie.

"Sophia, baby? Is that you? I'll be right out." There was no answer, though. A prickle of fear wormed through her belly. There couldn't possibly be walkers down here, could there? They were supposed to be safe.

She shut off the water and grabbed her towel, drying herself as quickly as she could. Another thump sounded just outside the bathroom door, and she stifled a scream as the door slammed open, and a limp body slumped onto the floor. As she scrambled to wrap herself in the towel, the body rolled over and groaned.

"_Daryl_? What are you _doing_?"

He opened his eyes, looked up at her from the floor, and started giggling. A grown man, giggling.

"Yer usside down." He pointed at her towel. "An' you ain' got no pants on."

Carol's cheeks burned as she wrapped the towel tighter around herself. "Get out of here! What do you think you're doing?"

"Goinna bed, but fellover. Whups," he mumbled.

"But why are you _here_? This is _my_ room!"

There was no answer from the floor. As far as she could tell, he'd passed out. Now what was she supposed to do? What would people think if they found him passed out in her room? What if Sophia came in?

That thought spurred her to action. She snatched up the clean night clothes she'd brought into the bathroom with her, but where could she change? Daryl was blocking the doorway, so she couldn't get privacy in either room. She certainly wasn't going to try to drag him out of the way while trying to hold up her towel. Sighing, she decided he was too far gone to see her even if she stood right over him, so she might as well just dress. Still, she kept the towel covering as much as she could while she struggled into the pajamas one handed.

Once she was dressed, she knelt down beside him. She reached out tentatively, unsure about touching him. But she needed him to wake up if she had any hope of getting him out of here.

"Daryl?" She patted his cheek gently.

"No!" He flinched away from her touch, and his hand flew up to catch her wrist. She gasped as he clamped down hard and twisted slightly. His eyes darted around before coming to rest on her face. His expression and his grip softened. She yanked her arm free and scrambled away from him on the floor, breathing hard and steeling herself for a blow. She knew perfectly well he wasn't Ed, but she couldn't help her ingrained reaction. This man was effectively a stranger to her, and he was drunk besides.

But instead of shouting or coming at her with fists or feet, he stayed sprawled on the floor, struggling to prop himself up on his elbows and blinking as he peered at his surroundings.

"Room's spinnin'. Y'drank too mush, ligh'weight." He laughed again, then groaned, sounding disappointed. "Where's my bed? Floor's not m'bed."

He seemed harmless enough – didn't seem to be an angry or violent drunk. In fact, he seemed much crankier when he _wasn't_ drunk. She inched back over to his side.

"I can show you, but I'll have to help you up. Is that OK?" She was unwilling to touch him again without permission.

In response, he stuck his hands out toward her and started what amounted to an awkward sit-up. She stood, grabbed his hands, and pulled while he scrabbled to get his feet under him. He wasn't particularly tall or large, but he was muscular which meant he was _heavy_. Before he could topple over the other way, she slipped an arm around his waist to steady him, and he leaned on her, resting one arm across her shoulders. Having so much of him pressed against her set her on edge. His fingers dug into her shoulder and she tensed, but he just seemed to be trying to keep his balance. They staggered across the tiny room and out into the hallway, which was mercifully clear of prying eyes.

She helped him stumble along until they got to what she was fairly sure was his room, though she knocked softly on the door before opening it, just in case. The door swung open, and she flipped on the light. His crossbow and pack were in a heap in the middle of the floor, so at least this was the right place.

"Here you go, back in your room. Try not to get lost again, hm?" she said as she guided him to the couch and eased him down.

"Wazzn lost. Goinna bed." He oozed sideways on the couch until his head landed on the pillow, muffling his words.

"What?" She wasn't sure she heard him right.

"Unngh. Spinning," he mumbled.

Sighing, she unlaced his boots and pulled them off. She hoisted his feet up so he was more or less all the way on the couch on his side. She expected he'd be sore in the morning from sleeping in such an awkward position, but she supposed this was better than the floor. Especially _her_ floor. Shaking out the blanket that was folded on the back of the couch, she covered him up to keep off the chill. As she tugged it up around his shoulders, his hand came up to catch hers. His movement was slow enough and his grip gentle enough that she didn't flinch away this time, but she shivered when he brought her hand to his lips and planted a sloppy kiss on the back of her fingers.

"Thank you, Sacwuh...Sac...Sacagawea." He laughed at himself and mumbled some more. "Mmf. Mowzz, muh ass, Mrrrl. Sh'purrrdeee."

She pulled her hand free, but stayed to make sure he settled into sleep. When he was snoring softly, she stood and backed out of the room, closing the door behind her. Wrapping her robe tightly around her, she took a deep breath before making her way down to the rec room to check on the kids, who were just starting a new game of checkers. She chose a book from the shelves and sat on the couch in hopes of distracting herself.

She chewed her lip as she tried to read, but she felt restless. Why had he ended up at her door instead of someone else's? _Anyone_ else's? Drunk men made her nervous – they were unpredictable. But he had seemed...cheerful, if anything. And he kissed her hand. She absently rubbed the fingers he'd kissed against her lips. He didn't feel like a threat, which was confusing. By all rights, he _should_ feel like a threat.

As the two kids played their game, Carol turned to watch Sophia for a minute, soaking in the sight of her baby girl alive and safe in this horrible world. When she eventually turned back to her book, she decided it didn't matter. Considering his condition, she doubted he would even remember their encounter in the morning, and things wouldn't be any different than they were before. All that mattered was keeping Sophia safe, and if Daryl was part of the group that did that, then so be it. If he made her uncomfortable, she would figure out how to deal with it.


	3. La Casa de los Muertos

**This is based on events that happened in a deleted scene from episode 2x01 (What Lies Ahead) where they look for help from the vatos after leaving the CDC. If you haven't seen it or don't remember, it might help to check it out first, though I don't think it's absolutely necessary.**

**Reminder: These chapters are snapshots and don't necessarily pick up where the last chapter began.**

**Disclaimer: Do I really have to do this? I don't own any of this shit. Still. Ever.**

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><p><strong>La Casa de los Muertos<strong>

They were on the ragged edge – after the devastating revelations at the CDC and the heavy losses they'd suffered over the last few days, they needed a place to rest and regroup. Desperation led them to travel back into Atlanta, with the hope that they could find temporary sanctuary at the nursing home where Glenn had been taken less than a week before. The men had left on good enough terms with Guillermo's people that the group was hopeful they would be taken in for at least a night or two. But when they reached the rest home, all hopes for help faded. They were seeking a haven, but found a graveyard.

They barged into the building in one chaotic group, and Carol felt despair and panic rising. This was dangerous. There was nothing here but death. Bodies were left lying in the hallway and clustered in every room. She clung to her daughter, trying to shield her from the worst of what was there, but Sophia whimpered and started to cry. Carol held her tighter and tried to quiet her as they moved through the hall, but apparently that wasn't enough.

"Put a sock in it!" Daryl hissed from the front of the group.

Her panic flared into hot fury, and she glared back at him. "You leave her alone!"

Defending her child was one thing that came automatically to her, but she shocked herself by talking back like that. The desperate fear was making her brave – or stupid.

"You shut her up or I _will_!" His harsh, whispered threat made her tremble as his voice became Ed's in her head. She hugged her daughter tight and hunched inward, guarding against the attack her instincts told her would come next.

But Lori stepped in, making him back down. Half the group pushed on into the building to clear a safe place. The rest of them barricaded themselves into the lobby, hiding from the dead. When Rick's group returned, they all gathered in the large dining hall.

"Upstairs is our best bet," said Rick. "We've cleared a few rooms – we can barricade those if we have to. We'll be all right."

_We'll be all right._

It was too much. Another empty promise of safety? The panic-driven anger flared again.

"You mean it this time? Or are you lying to us like all the times before?" The vicious words were out of her mouth before she had time to think. What was wrong with her?

Lori jumped to her husband's defense. "That's unfair. And no help at all."

Carol hugged her daughter and tucked her head against Sophia's hair. Her face flamed. This anger and resentment that kept bubbling up was so unlike her. Wasn't it? Or was she just better at keeping it under control before, when fear of her husband's wrath kept it subdued?

They all moved upstairs to one of the rooms - the residents of which had apparently been elsewhere when they were murdered. And they _had_ been murdered. Everyone here had. They'd all been gunned down in cold blood, and their killers took everything of value they had: food, guns, medicine.

The group sat together and shared what little food and water was left. Shane even had a bottle of wine with him from the CDC which was quickly opened. Carol wished she were brave enough to ask for a drink. She felt like she was losing her mind, losing who she was. A little wine might help her calm down before she mouthed off again. God knew her mouth had earned her more than one beating in her life before she learned to keep it shut. But now she feared she was losing control of herself.

The men gathered in the hall to discuss their plans, leaving the women and children behind to get settled for sleep. Sophia snuggled into Carol's arms, curled around her rag doll, taking what comfort she could from its softness and its tenuous connection to her friend Leticia who'd given it to her. Carol stroked her daughter's hair and wondered briefly where the Morales family was, and if any of them were still alive. She shook the dark thoughts from her head and tried unsuccessfully to relax enough to fall asleep. Eventually most of the men returned to the room and found places to bed down. The slow, steady breathing of the sleeping bodies around her felt warm and suffocating. The constant shifting and murmuring prodded at her consciousness, grating on her frayed nerves and keeping her awake.

After a couple of hours of sleeplessness, she couldn't bear the close quarters anymore. Gently extricating herself from Sophia, she stood and picked her way to the door, careful not to disturb any of the sleepers. She crept out into the hallway, waving at Shane at the top of the stairs to let him know she would be just a few doors down. Sitting in the dark at the end of the hallway, she breathed deeply, trying to ignore the stench of death that permeated the air. Anxiety clawed its way through her chest, despite her attempts to relax. Their night at the CDC had been such a relief for them, a release of all the stress and terror they'd been living with for the last few months. To be shoved back into this harsh world seemed doubly cruel after the relative luxury they'd tasted the night before.

Hugging her knees, she wondered if she'd made a mistake leaving the CDC. Maybe Jenner and Jacqui had been right – a quick, painless end might be preferable to this short, miserable life and the inevitable brutal death.

Noises at the top of the stairs caught her ear. Peering through the dark with a pounding heart, she saw Shane heading back into the room to get some sleep as someone else took the watch. It was just people. People – not walkers. But people didn't necessarily mean safety anymore. She trusted this group, more or less, but look what had happened to the people here. Regular folks looking out for each other and their families, all brutally murdered without a thought, just for the sake of a little food and medicine. She and Sophia should have stayed at the CDC.

She glanced up as she heard soft footsteps in the hall. Someone was checking up on her. Daryl. Her cheeks flushed. Was he still angry with her for talking back to him earlier? For not being able to quiet Sophia and putting them all in danger? She wished now that she'd stayed in the room with everyone else. At least there would be others around to keep his anger in check.

He set his crossbow down as he sat a few feet away from her, leaning against the wall.

"Can't sleep?" he whispered.

She shook her head, keeping her eyes on the floor. She was grateful he sat next to her rather than across from her, so she didn't have to look him in the eye. However, he was between her and the room, which put her on edge. She felt cornered.

"Me, neither." He held something out to her. "Drink? Might help you sleep."

She looked up to see him offering her the wine bottle from earlier. Slowly, she reached to take it from him, half expecting him to pull it back. There was still nearly a quarter of the bottle left. Keeping one eye on him, she took a deep pull from the bottle and swallowed it down. It wasn't the best wine, but it pooled warm in her empty belly. She took another drink before handing the bottle back.

He took a good gulp before setting the bottle down halfway between them, silently giving her permission to have more if she wanted it. He kept his eyes trained down the hall toward the stairs as they sat in a tense silence.

Eventually his voice grated harshly through the dark. "I'm sorry I yelled at yer girl, OK? Weren't fair to do, 'n she didn't deserve it."

Carol froze, confused. Was _he_ apologizing to _her_?

"Shit, jus'...tell her I said so, a'right?"

Daryl pushed himself to his feet and went back to his watch post at the top of the stairs, swearing under his breath and leaving the wine bottle beside her.

She watched him go, still hugging her knees. Her brow knit in uncertainty. An apology and a peace offering? Apparently. But he was angry. At her? She couldn't help but feel suspicious that it was some sort of trick or trap, that he was waiting for some reason to catch her out.

For a long time she sat without moving and thought about the man at the end of the hall. Finally she picked up the bottle and made her way to the top of the stairs. He scowled and kept his eyes focused down the stairs, guarding against any potential threat. She took one last pull from the bottle before leaving it at his feet.

"I'll tell her. Thank you." Her voice was soft, even for her – words barely there, floating out to him in the air.

But he heard, and nodded once abruptly. His eyes met hers briefly before flicking away, dismissing her from his attention.

She melted back into the dark, joining the others in the room. Curling herself around Sophia, she let the warmth of the wine in her belly spread through her limbs, relaxing her until she finally fell asleep.


	4. Stripped Down

**This one's a mini-chapter, and it DOES take place right after the last one. Or at least, the next morning.**

**Disclaimer: Nothing pertaining to The Walking Dead belongs to me. Not even a little bit.**

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><p><strong>Stripped Down<strong>

Daryl was passing a full gas can up to Dale in the RV when she saw it.

They were stripping down their caravan, ditching three of their vehicles and consolidating their supplies into those that remained. The chaos of last night had been tamed, and they now had a plan. Conserve fuel, be smart, push on to Ft. Benning. Having a goal gave them focus, and everyone bustled about, getting their jobs done.

Carol was rearranging the back of the Cherokee and happened to glance his way just as he reached up, gas can in hand. The timing was just right – or just wrong – otherwise she never would have seen it. The breeze caught the edge of his unbuttoned shirt, flipping it back behind him. His undershirt had hitched up, exposing a narrow strip of skin above his belt. It was such a little thing, she wondered if anyone else would even notice. But once she saw it, she couldn't stop looking.

A white, circular scar. Old, but unmistakable.

Cigarette burn.

He handed the gas can off and had started to turn to his next task when he noticed the focus of her attention. A hard expression rippled across his face as he yanked the edge of his shirt back down where it belonged. The anger and challenge in his glare would have been terrifying at any other time. But she didn't look away. Her perception had shifted at the sight of that small mark. Everything about him suddenly fell into place, and she understood. All the aggression and prickly defensiveness that he wore like a garment fell away in her mind, and she really saw him for the first time.

When she didn't quail at his glare, he stalked to the side of the Cherokee. Putting a hand to the roof, he leaned forward, looming over her in a way that should have been threatening. Still, she didn't look away.

"You got a problem, lady?" he snarled in her face.

Not trusting her voice, she shook her head no.

"Well, quit gawkin' at me! Mind your own goddamn business."

Sophia approached the Cherokee at a trot, with her rag doll in hand, but stopped abruptly when she noticed the confrontation. She looked at her mother uncertainly.

Daryl scowled and backed away half a step. Carol reached a hand toward her daughter and drew her close, putting an arm around her shoulder.

"Mr. Dixon was telling me he was sorry for yelling at you yesterday. He wanted you to know he didn't mean it." Her voice was soft but steady, to her relief.

Sophia turned her eyes to Daryl's stormy face doubtfully.

He glared at Carol with hard eyes before looking down at Sophia. His expression softened, though Carol thought that might not have been intentional.

"Shouldn't have yelled," he mumbled.

Sophia's eyes were big, but she nodded to him, accepting his words. Carol knew it was the first time anyone other than herself had offered an apology to the girl for causing her hurt. It stirred up a strange mixture of feelings she wasn't ready to sort out.

Daryl backed away another step, glaring at Carol again, though some of the fury behind it seemed to have dimmed. "Ain't you got work to do?"

He turned sharply on a heel and left to get another empty gas can from the Winnebago.

He and T-Dog siphoned the last of the gas from the church van and the Wrangler as the rest of the group loaded their things into the RV and the Cherokee. He still managed to throw a few dirty looks her way as they worked. Before long, everything useful had been tucked away, and the unnecessary left behind. The caravan moved out, lighter than before, on their way to Ft. Benning.


	5. Roadside

**Sorry for the delay in getting this out. This is a look at what happened on the highway after Sophia was lost, but before they got to the farm.**

**Reminder: These are snapshots, so each chapter is its own separate moment with our heroes.**

**Disclaimer: Nothing relating to The Walking Dead belongs to me. Never has, never will. **

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><p><strong>ROADSIDE<strong>

**Lost**

They all stood in anxious silence as they waited. Carol took slow, even breaths, trying to keep herself calm. It seemed like forever. Surely Rick would bring Sophia back soon. She could feel someone – Lori – rubbing her back soothingly, but it didn't help. Nothing would help until Sophia was back safe and sound.

Her heart leapt as they heard a sudden rustling in the trees. Rick appeared, calling for them. He scrambled up the bank, covered in dirt, sweat, and blood. But her stomach dropped when she realized he was alone. His eyes scanned the group expectantly.

"Where's Sophia?" he asked. His face twisted in dawning horror. "She's not back?"

Her baby was still out there. Carol moaned and sank to the ground on legs that wouldn't hold her anymore. Hands reached for her along with voices offering support and sympathy, but she didn't hear the words. All she knew was Sophia was lost and alone.

Shane, Glenn, and Daryl immediately volunteered to go back out with Rick to find her. As they gathered weapons, she heard Daryl say he could track the girl. Hope flared in her chest. He was a hunter. He could track and find Sophia.

The volunteers were ready to head out. In desperation, she turned to stop him.

"Please," she begged. She reached across the guardrail toward Daryl as though to catch his arm, but she stopped several inches short of actually touching him. "Please, find my baby."

For a moment, Daryl didn't meet her eyes. But then he looked back at her tear-streaked face and nodded. "I'll bring her back."

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><p><strong>Despair<strong>

The waiting was torture. Shane and Glenn had returned hours ago, but there was no sign of the others. She leaned on the guardrail, letting it support her. After what felt like an eternity, she saw Rick and Daryl coming out of the forest, but Sophia wasn't with them. Oh, God. They didn't find her. Sophia was still lost in a forest full of walkers, and it was getting dark.

Panic flooded over her as Rick and the others assured her they had done all they could, and there was nothing more to be done tonight. They couldn't search in the dark. She felt sick. Her poor girl was out there alone and afraid in the dark, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. The anger and frustration that had surfaced at the nursing home boiled up again, and she lashed out. This was Rick's fault for leaving her out there in the first place. How could he leave her like that? Sophia was just a child.

She sat on the rail, feeling utterly helpless. People surrounded her again. Lori and Andrea hugged and petted her, offering comfort when there was none to be found.

Eventually, the others left her alone at the guardrail. Most of the group gathered near the RV to make plans for tomorrow. They would send out as many people as they could to try to pick up Sophia's trail, leaving the injured T-Dog with Dale to work on repairing the Winnebago. It was agony knowing there was nothing any of them could do through the night, but she felt a tiny bit better knowing they would all be searching tomorrow. More people could cover more ground.

As darkness fell, most of the group settled in to get some sleep before their early morning. Carol stayed up a little while, unable to give up her vigil, hoping Sophia might somehow find her way back, even in the dark. She knew it was unlikely, but she couldn't give in to the despair that threatened to pull her down and suffocate her. Hugging herself tightly, she strained to peer through the darkness, watching for any movement in the trees.

Quiet footsteps behind her startled her. She turned to find Daryl standing a few feet back. He shifted his weight uncomfortably as he made up his mind whether or not to approach her. Finally, he took the final few steps and joined her at the rail, watching the treeline. Neither of them spoke, but she appreciated that he wasn't offering empty words of sympathy. His presence alone was more comfort than any of the awkward hugs and back patting the others had given her.

They stood side by side in silence for a long while. Eventually exhaustion forced her to return to the RV, though she knew sleep would be impossible. As she turned to make her way back, she paused to give Daryl a small smile in thanks for his being there. His chin dipped the tiniest bit, which she took as acknowledgment.

Some time later, as she lay wide awake in the back of the Winnebago, she heard footsteps on the RV's ladder and roof. A few moments later, Dale climbed into the RV, and she knew Daryl had taken over the watch. She relaxed just enough to fall into a fitful sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Walk the Road<strong>

Carol's mind simply wouldn't shut down. She was exhausted and terrified after their crazy day in the woods, and all she saw when she closed her eyes was Sophia in the dark, lost and scared. Sometimes she was huddling in the underbrush, cold and hungry. Sometimes she was running from hordes of walkers. Sometimes she was lying dead, torn apart by grasping hands. And sometimes she was the one with grasping hands and a different kind of hunger.

At least during the day there were other people around to distract her, though there were fewer now that so many of them had gone down the road to the farm. During the day, there were people out looking – Sophia might be found at any moment. But at night, she knew her daughter was alone and in danger for hours and hours, and all she could do was watch the horror show in her mind. The tears wouldn't stop coming. She rested in the little sleeping nook in the back of the RV, unable to sleep, wiping away tears and trying to stay quiet, though she knew she wasn't succeeding. Dale kept watch on the roof, Andrea fiddled with the guns, and Daryl was sleeping on the RV floor. Or at least he was trying to.

When he got up, she assumed at first that he was leaving to find somewhere quieter to sleep, driven away by Andrea's clattering and her own never ending tears. But instead he surprised her.

"Need my clip now. I'ma walk the road. Look for the girl."

She looked back, wiping away her tears. He was willing to do that? A mix of hope and gratitude swelled in her chest as she met his gaze. He'd already done so much: tracking Sophia for a day and a half, coming up with the idea to leave a sign and supplies in case she made it back to the road, offering to stay on the highway so the others could join the rest at that farm. And still he offered more. Maybe he was really that concerned for Sophia, or maybe he just felt sorry for her poor, pathetic mother. In any case, he was doing more for her than everyone else had all put together.

Andrea decided to go with him, and Carol was glad there would be two sets of eyes, both to look for Sophia and to watch for danger. Knowing that Daryl was out there looking for her baby let her get control over her tears, but she was still unable to sleep. Finally, she grabbed her bag and went outside to climb to the roof and join Dale. She didn't want to be inside anymore – not alone. She told Dale she wanted to wait, but mostly what she needed was someone to wait with.

Dale's own anxiety over Andrea was eating him up. He'd been so concerned about her ever since the CDC, and now that she'd disappeared into the night, he was a mess. She knew Andrea would be safe with Daryl, and she tried to reassure him, but Dale couldn't be calmed. After fidgeting a while, he left her alone to go walk the road. She sat on the roof of the RV, watching Dale weaving between the hulking wrecks on the highway. He paced, peering into the darkness, but eventually made his way back to the RV, looking more anxious than ever.

"I really meant it, you know. She'll be just fine. She couldn't be safer out there than she is with Daryl." She spoke softly, hoping to reassure him.

"You seem to have a lot of faith in that man."

Carol looked up at him. "Don't you?"

Dale looked thoughtful for a moment. "You know, now that you mention it, I suppose I do."

He gave her a crooked smile before they fell back into silence to wait for the pair to return. His validation of her belief in Daryl left Carol feeling more at ease than she had since Sophia had disappeared into the forest. She really did have a great deal of faith and trust in him - more than she did for Rick or Shane. Though they had all been searching, Daryl was the only one who actually seemed to care about finding her daughter.

They saw a flash in the distance, and they focused on the bobbing lights as Daryl and Andrea drew closer. Finally they came close enough that she could see Sophia wasn't with them. She fought the sob that rose in her chest, and she hurried down the ladder and back into the Winnebago before anyone saw her fall apart. She curled up on the bed and let the hot tears come.

The door opened, so she tried to stifle her sobbing. Everyone must be so tired of her crying and wringing her hands all day. Daryl's boots scuffed the ratty carpet of the RV as he walked to the back, stopping beside her. When he didn't go away, she sat up and turned to face him, sniffing and scrubbing the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. He stood there long enough that she began to feel uncomfortable.

"'M sorry about what I said out there today. Last thing I wanna do is make you lose hope." His voice was rough, and his eyes were fixed on the floor.

He waited in front of her, looking guilty. It was true she had been stung by his earlier words when he said all her hopes and prayers were worthless. But his next words had stuck with her, too. She'd chosen to focus on his determination to find Sophia and bring her back safe. If anyone could do it, he would.

"You didn't," she said softly. "You'll find her. I know you will."

* * *

><p><strong>Moving On<strong>

She lay in the back of the RV as the first of the morning sun streamed in through the window. She watched the sunbeams crawl slowly down the wall. Dust motes swirled in the beams of light, as helpless to the currents that carried them as she was. Worthless or not, she prayed then – prayed that they would find Sophia today, safe and sound. When she opened her eyes, she watched the dust moving in the light, willing her prayers to travel with more direction than those aimlessly floating specks. She followed the sunbeams with her eyes for a minute more before getting up with the others, who were just starting to stir.

Today they would be joining the others at the farm down the way. They bustled around, packing up the last of the scavenged supplies. As she worked, she couldn't help looking past the guardrail toward the forest. She felt hollow knowing they were leaving, though she knew they had to. She looked over to where Daryl was busily stacking food and water on the hood of the car that now had a message to Sophia on its windshield.

She closed up the back of the Hyundai and rested her chin on her hands on the roof of the car as she watched him work. Maybe today. Maybe today they would find Sophia.


	6. Already Dead

**Day one at the farm.**

**Reminder: These are snapshots, so each chapter may or may not follow directly after the chapter before it.  
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**Disclaimer: I own jack.**

* * *

><p><strong>Already Dead<strong>

The emotional roller coaster of the last two days left Carol exhausted and numb. Her optimistic outlook of the morning was shattered back at the traffic snarl when they found no sign that Sophia had returned. The food they'd left for her was untouched. She waved off the sympathetic platitudes from Andrea and Shane. She knew they didn't believe they'd ever find Sophia alive, and she found their words insulting.

They stopped at a field on the way back to the farm, scouting out a good place to do the gun training folks were expecting. Carol trailed behind the other two, not really listening to the discussion. As Shane and Andrea leaned on the split rail fence and chatted casually about God knew what, Carol wandered across the field, peering into the trees on the far side and wondering if her daughter might be somewhere nearby. Walking a little farther, she put a hand out to touch the rough bark of a pine at the edge of the forest. When she pulled her hand away, it was sticky with sap. She frowned and touched her fingers to the sticky spots on her palm, not liking the way it felt on her skin.

Dropping her hand, she took a few more steps into the forest. It was beautiful under the trees and blessedly cool after the glaring sun in the field. She thought she could hear water trickling, and she wondered if it was the same creek Sophia had been on. She turned toward the sound and walked a little farther, thinking she might take a peek, just in case there was some sign of her girl. Hadn't Daryl said the creek was her only landmark?

The sap on her skin was irritating. She would almost forget it was there, but then something would cling to it and remind her. Reaching down, she picked up a handful of dirt and scrubbed it between her palms. When she dusted off her hands, there were dark spots where the dirt had ground into the clear yellowish sap. But they weren't sticky anymore, which was a relief.

She climbed over a fallen log to peer over a low hill. The creek she'd been hearing was there at the bottom, bubbling and trickling along, not caring that the world had come to an end. Carol looked up and down the banks of the creek, but didn't see any obvious sign that anyone had been there, so she looked down into the rippling water instead. She picked up a dead leaf and dropped it, letting it flutter to the surface of the water and watching as the current snatched it up and carried it away. Her eyes followed the leaf until it disappeared from sight, and even then she kept watching the water though the leaf was long gone.

A hand grabbed her arm roughly and yanked her around. She gasped in pain and looked up into Shane's face, twisted in anger and entirely too close.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The words were pitched low, but the fury behind them made her flinch. "Are you really that fucking stupid, wandering off into the woods by yourself? You trying to get yourself killed like your damn daughter?"

"_Shane!_" Andrea's voice cut sharply through his tirade, and she grabbed his other arm, pulling him back.

The glint in his eyes faded as he digested what he'd said. He pushed Carol away from him and snorted in disgust, though he wouldn't look her in the eye.

"Just get your ass to the car," he snapped. He turned and stormed back toward the field and the car parked beyond it.

Andrea reached for Carol's shoulder. "Are you OK?"

Carol sidestepped the hand and nodded, rubbing her upper arm where Shane had grabbed her. "I'm fine. He's right – it was stupid. Let's just go, please?"

She kept her head down as she followed Shane back to the car.

* * *

><p>What she needed was to stay busy. She needed to distract her mind – keep occupied. When they got back to the farm, she set to work doing anything and everything she could think of. She had cooked some lunch for everyone, then cleaned the RV from top to bottom. The day still wasn't over yet, so she dug through the laundry looking for anything with holes or torn seams. She took a pile of clothes into the Winnebago and set to work mending. Her hands were still shaky, so each stitch took her twice as long as it should have.<p>

Shane's words haunted her. She'd already known the others didn't believe they'd find Sophia alive anymore, but to have him throw it so viciously in her face hurt even more than she expected. And despite the hurt, she feared he was right. She needed to let go and accept that their chances of finding Sophia were dwindling with every passing hour. Carol knew she couldn't bear any more disappointment. If she didn't allow herself to get her hopes up anymore, they couldn't be crushed.

Twilight was approaching when Daryl stepped into the RV. She watched him, puzzled, as he placed a flower on the shelf in the sleep nook. And then he told her a story. She listened, hesitant to accept it as anything more than what it was – a story. But then he said something that made her heart ache.

"I'm not fool enough to think there's any flowers bloomin' for my brother...but I believe this one bloomed for your little girl."

Tears welled and spilled over as she tried to resist the fire of hope his words kindled inside her. But his absolute faith that Sophia would be found alive and safe was so strong. She desperately wanted him to be right, but was afraid to believe with him anymore.

"She's gonna really like it in here," he said just before stepping out the door.

The churning storm of conflicting emotion threatened to overwhelm her. Dropping her mending on the little table next to her, she stepped up the aisle to where the Cherokee rose sat in its bottle. She touched the velvety white petals, soft as her daughter's pale skin. She sat on the mattress and folded her arms on the little shelf that held the rose, then dropped her head down and cried.

* * *

><p>After she ran out of tears, she splashed some water on her face and went out to help with dinner. She and Lori worked in silence, which suited Carol just fine. Lori clearly had something on her mind, but Carol didn't ask. The others straggled in a few at a time. When the food was ready, she dished up the plates and handed them out. Some people stayed by the fire, some retreated to their own tents to eat. Carol asked Andrea to carry an extra plate to the RV for her – she would be along in a minute.<p>

Filling one last plate, she walked around to the end of the RV. Holding the dish in one hand, she climbed the ladder awkwardly. Daryl was watching her as she reached the top.

She held the food out to him. "I brought you dinner since you're stuck up here."

He took it from her and nodded his thanks. He turned his eyes back out across the fields and started picking at the food with his fingers. She watched him as he ate, unwilling to leave, but having no real reason to stay. She plucked at the spots of sap still clinging to her palm.

"What?" he said, around a mouthful of woodchuck.

She shook her head and turned to leave. But before she reached the ladder, she turned back around. She knew it was the wrong thing to say, but it was all she had been thinking about since he left her the rose. "They were already dead."

He frowned at her in confusion.

"The Cherokee children. What good is hope if the children were already dead?" she asked, her voice unsteady.

He narrowed his eyes. "Sophia ain't dead."

"But hope won't change it if she is." Her throat tightened as she said it out loud.

He stood abruptly and shoved the half-full plate back into her hands. "Sophia _ain't_ dead. She's just _fuckin_' fine, and I'm gonna find her if it kills me! If you ain't willin' to believe in her, _that_ ain't my fault. Now piss off and leave me alone. I got shit to do."

Her mouth twisted as she fought back guilty tears. She nodded and backed away toward the ladder.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. But if he heard her, he didn't respond.


	7. Laid Up

**Disclaimer: Most of the dialogue here is from 2x05 Chupacabra. No infringement is intended, and I don't do this for profit. **

* * *

><p><strong>Laid Up<strong>

She walked softly up the stairs carrying a tray of food for Daryl. Her stomach churned with guilt and nerves. She'd brought him dinner last night, then ruined everything with her terrible, awful questions. But even after all that, he'd gone out again, nearly getting himself killed looking for Sophia. He'd found her doll, and that was something. She wasn't sure she could completely shake the doubt she felt about finding Sophia alive, but she was trying. And now he was hurt, and it was her turn to do something for him.

She opened the door to the room where he was laid up. He quickly pulled the sheet up to cover his bare torso, but not before she saw the patchwork of scars on his back. She'd already seen the cigarette burn, so the rest didn't surprise or shock her – she had plenty of her own to match – but she pretended not to see, since he seemed self-conscious.

"How you feeling?" she asked gently as she placed the tray on the night table.

"'Bout as good as I look."

"Brought you some dinner. You must be starving."

He glared at her over his shoulder. He was still angry with her.

She was about to leave, but paused. On impulse, she leaned over to kiss him gently on the temple, just below his bandage. He flinched away, protecting himself from her. Her heart hurt to see it.

"Watch it – I got stitches," he grumbled, trying to brush it off as something it wasn't.

She sighed sadly. "You need to know something. You did more for my little girl today than her own daddy did for her in his whole life."

"I didn't do anything Rick or Shane wouldn't'a done." He tried to brush off the value of his own actions, too.

"I know," she said. "You're every bit as good as them. Every bit."

She wished she could tell him how much better he was than them, but she didn't think he would believe it. He was the one who actually tried to find Sophia. He was the one who reached out to her in a meaningful way to offer comfort and hope. He was the one she trusted.

He stayed turned away from her and didn't answer, so she left the room, closing the door behind her. She walked down the stairs slowly, wondering if she'd done the right thing. He'd been so angry last night. She only wanted him to understand that she appreciated everything he had done. Sighing, she went into the kitchen to help out with the huge pile of dishes to be washed. She'd go back up later to check on him and pick up his dinner tray.

* * *

><p>After the last few dishes were dried and most of their group had returned to their camp outdoors, she went up to collect the tray. Hershel warned her that he'd given Daryl something for the pain and to help him rest, so he might not be awake. She smiled and nodded, then made her way upstairs. She knocked gently on the door to give him a chance to cover himself this time. Though his scars didn't disturb her at all, he was clearly sensitive about them. There was no answer to her knock, so she opened the door quietly in case he was asleep.<p>

The light in the room was still on, but the bed was empty. His sheet was thrown back in a heap, spilling off the bed onto the floor. The tray of food was untouched on the night stand.

"Daryl?" she called softly. Where had he gone? He shouldn't be walking around by himself.

The door to the adjoining bathroom was closed, so she went over to it and knocked softly. "Daryl?" she called again.

There was no answer, but she heard a scuffling and a thump.

"Are you OK in there?" she asked. The lack of response made her nervous.

She chewed her lower lip, trying to decide what to do. She could go get Hershel, but she'd feel stupid if there was nothing actually wrong, and Daryl was just ignoring her. He _had_ been pretty angry.

She knocked one more time, then turned the knob. It was unlocked. Swinging the door open a little, she peeked her head inside. "Daryl?"

There was very little light in the bathroom, so she couldn't see clearly until she'd pushed the door all the way open, letting more light in from the bedroom. Daryl was sitting against the claw foot tub in the corner, staring blankly at the floor. The water in the sink was running at a trickle, and a wet washcloth was pooled on the floor in a puddle.

"Oh, God, are you all right?" She kneeled down to check on him. His bandages were intact and weren't soaked through with blood, so his injuries seemed under control. After turning off the water, she put a tentative hand to his cheek and turned him to face her. His skin was chilled, and his pupils were constricted even in the dim light. He pulled away from her touch, but without much energy behind it.

"'M fine," he said. "Leeme alone."

Some of the grime on his face and arms had been scrubbed away, but he'd apparently run out of steam before he finished cleaning up.

"Please let me help you get back to bed. You'll be more comfortable."

He blinked slowly and looked up at her. Eventually he nodded. Reminded of his drunken visit to her room at the CDC, she was shocked to realize that had only been about a week ago, give or take. She cautiously took his hand and pulled his arm over her shoulder. He leaned hard on her as she helped him stand. Careful not to touch his injured side, Carol walked him back to the bedroom and supported him as he sat on the bed. She checked to make sure he hadn't started bleeding again, and when she was fairly sure he was all right, she held up a warning finger.

"Stay put! I'll be right back."

She went to the bathroom and picked up the washcloth. Tossing the cloth in the sink, she turned the water on to heat up again while she went back into the bedroom. She emptied a ceramic bowl of potpourri and washed it in the sink. Then she filled the bowl with hot water and carried it carefully to the night stand. Daryl was still sitting on the edge of the bed where she'd left him, watching her with sleepy blue eyes.

She wrung out the washcloth and stood in front of him. "I'm going to finish cleaning you up, and then you can get some sleep, OK?"

He didn't object, so she took his chin in one hand and carefully cleaned the dirt, blood, and sweat from his face. He closed his eyes as she worked, letting her turn him this way and that without resisting or pulling away. Once his face and neck were clean, she hesitated, feeling inexplicably nervous.

"We're going to do your chest and arms now. Is that all right?" she asked.

He opened his eyes heavily, but nodded. She rinsed the washcloth and started on his shoulders and arms, working as quickly and impersonally as she could. Moving on to his chest, she found herself chewing her lip again. Even though he was completely out of it, she was blushing at the close contact. At the CDC, it was different. Then, his proximity made her anxious, if not afraid. Now, she felt awkward, but it wasn't exactly unpleasant. Not at all, really.

Rinsing the cloth again, she said, "Time to do your back now."

He frowned and his eyes swam around until they focused on her face, more or less. "Don' want you to see."

She paused, wringing out the washcloth. "It's OK. I won't look."

Still frowning, he appeared to think it over. "'Kay."

Carefully, she climbed onto the bed to sit behind him. She cleaned the grime from his back, working gently over the heavy scars, being sure not to disturb his bandages. His head nodded forward as she worked, and she assumed he had dozed off sitting up. When she was finished, she slid out from behind him and tossed the cloth into the bowl. She reached out and combed her fingers through his rumpled hair, smoothing it out as best she could around the gauze.

"Daryl? We're all done. You can go to bed now and get some sleep."

His head lifted and he blinked up at her. She put a hand to his shoulder and pushed him back, helping him get his bare feet up onto the bed and making sure he didn't lay on his injured side. Pulling the sheet back into place, she tucked it up around his shoulders, where she knew he would want it to be. She dumped the bowl of grubby water and rinsed out the cloth before hanging it over the edge of the tub to dry. By the time she went back through the bedroom, he was snoring softly. Pausing by the bedside, she decided his dinner would keep where it was. He could eat when he woke up later. Hesitating only a moment, she leaned down again to press a kiss to his temple, lingering a bit longer this time.

She left then, closing the door quietly and tiptoeing down the stairs.


	8. Before

**Some of the dialogue here is from the episodes 3 x 06 (Secrets) and 3 x 07 (Pretty Much Dead Already). No infringement is intended. I do not own anything related to The Walking Dead.**

* * *

><p><strong>Before<strong>

Carol tried not to get her hopes up too much when she heard the crunch of tires on gravel, but the Hyundai was moving fast, so maybe they had some news. Shane and Andrea had been up to a nearby housing development they thought Sophia might have stumbled across. She stepped out of the RV and paused, waiting for a hint of how things might have gone, but as they climbed out of the car, it was obvious they hadn't had any luck.

"Anything?" she asked, because she had to.

"Not today," Shane replied with a sigh, refusing to look her direction.

"I'm so sorry," added Andrea. "We'll cover more ground tomorrow."

The hope she was trying so hard to hang on to faded just a little bit more.

"What happened out there?" Dale seemed concerned by the pair's disheveled appearance.

Andrea hesitated, apparently unable to find an answer. Carol frowned. Something wasn't right.

"Place was overrun," Shane provided. Andrea quickly agreed, throwing sidelong glances his way.

Oh.

Carol's disappointment settled in her stomach like a stone. It hurt knowing they didn't take her daughter's life seriously, but she supposed she should be grateful they were out there at all.

"Let's go get you cleaned up," she offered, holding out a hand to lead Andrea to the well.

Andrea dropped her bag as they passed through their camp, and they walked along in silence as they crossed the wide yard. When they reached the far side, Andrea sat while Carol pumped up a bucket of water. She handed Andrea the towel she'd pulled from the line on the way over.

"Thanks." She soaked the towel and started cleaning the sweat and dirt from her face.

"So...nothing at all?" Carol asked again.

"I'm sorry, honey."

Looking away, Carol shifted on her feet a little. "Do you...do you think Sophia's alive?"

Andrea dropped the towel away from her carefully composed face, glancing up to meet Carol's eyes. That alone was enough to provide an answer, but Carol wanted to hear what she had to say.

"I certainly think there's a chance..." Her voice trailed off as though unwilling to outright lie. Reaching out, she took one of Carol's hands. "I don't think you should give up hope. We're all doing what we can."

"Right," Carol nodded. She slipped her hand free and stepped away. "I'm going to head back. Start supper. Thanks...for looking."

Andrea smiled awkwardly as hot spots of color appeared on her cheeks. "Sure."

Carol made her way slowly back across the yard. Cooking would keep her mind busy – keep her from thinking about it too much. But even with her mind distracted, she couldn't do anything about the dread that was building deep inside.

As she made her way into camp, she cast her eyes toward the tent where Daryl had been resting and recovering. The flap was open, and she could see him watching her walk by. She quickly turned away and picked up her pace, but a short, sharp whistle stopped her. Glancing back to his tent, she could see him beckon to her with a jerk of his chin. She thought momentarily about just walking by, but finally approached the tent and peeked inside.

"Did you need something?" she asked.

He ignored her question. "So, the mighty hunters didn't find nothin'?"

Carol shook her head minimally. At least her eyes stayed dry this time.

He nodded and looked down toward the crossbow bolt in his hands. He fiddled with the fletching for a bit before adding almost inaudibly, "They even look?"

She hesitated before shrugging slightly.

He grunted and scowled at the bolt.

After a moment he hadn't added anything else, so she left him in his tent and went to start supper.

* * *

><p>There were walkers in the barn.<p>

It was morning, and Glenn had told them the barn was full of the dead. The group had stormed down there arguing, and now Shane was in a rage over it – they weren't safe here. When she reminded him that Sophia was still lost out there, he said outright, to her face, that he thought her girl was dead, and they should give up the search and move on. And the only person who'd given more than a half-hearted objection to that was Daryl, and he'd nearly started a fight over it.

There was a great deal of shouting and posturing, but eventually the group dispersed. She hurried after Rick and caught the sleeve of his shirt.

"I can't leave without Sophia – I can't! Please, you have to find her!"

Rick turned to face her and said, "We're doing everything we can. I'm going out later to look again. Don't worry."

"I have to worry. What if she's..." Her voice broke.

He gripped her upper arms and leaned toward her. "Hey, it'll be okay. I have to talk to Hershel about the barn, then I'm going out again."

"It's been almost a week. Is Shane right? Has it been too long? How long before everyone decides it's time to give up and abandon my little girl?" she asked.

He let go of one arm and spread his hand out in front of her, as though to calm a nervous animal. "It's been a while, it's true, but don't let Shane get to you. We're gonna keep lookin', all right?"

She looked into his face and drew in a breath. Exhaustion and desperation clouded the blue of his eyes. She could see evidence of all the stress and strain he'd been under since all this began. Sophia was the beginning and end of Carol's world, but she was only one of a half dozen crises Rick was trying to deal with all at once. There was no more help to be found here. He was already doing what he could.

Releasing the breath in a sigh, she nodded and looked away. He patted her shoulder before walking off toward the farmhouse.

She paced along the fence across from the old farmhouse and their camp, her arms folded tight against her ribs. She must have used up all of her tears over the last week, because there were none this morning. There was no doubt the group would be moving on soon, and she had no idea what she would do if they did. There was no way she could leave without Sophia, but the thought of being left behind was terrifying. Maybe Hershel would let her stay here. But even if he did, she couldn't look for Sophia on her own. Her stomach churned. There were no good options. She just had to hope Rick would have some luck when he went out later today.

Movement in the corner of her eye brought her attention to the big stables behind the house. Someone had just disappeared into the saddle shed. She frowned. Surely Daryl wasn't trying to go out again.

But there he was - she saw him carrying a saddle from the shed into the stable. Hurrying, she walked in just in time to see him heave the saddle onto a rack, wincing as the movement pulled at the stitches in his injured side. What was he thinking? He'd get himself hurt again or killed trying to go out there in his condition. But he wouldn't listen. Trying to stop him was pointless – he was determined.

Then she made the mistake of mentioning her doubt. She didn't know if they were going to find Sophia.

He was furious. As he stormed away, it was clear he was done – that she wasn't worth his time or effort anymore. That he was disgusted with her lack of faith. She didn't know if she felt worse about him calling her names or about disappointing him so completely.

The tears that she thought were all dried up had come back, and they continued to flow as she watched him hitching his way from the stable to the campsite, holding his side and clearly in pain. The thought of him getting hurt or killed out there made her chest constrict. She wanted Sophia back desperately, but the thought of losing Daryl, too, was more than she could bear. Somehow she'd grown attached to him, despite his abrasiveness. It didn't make sense, but she _needed_ him to be here – to stay safe.

Turning away, she wiped her cheeks and went back into the stable to stand at the stall of the horse he'd been bridling. Was this Nellie? The horse that had thrown him? She watched the horse as it blew great puffs of air through its nose and flicked its tail. She looked back out the gate in the direction Daryl had fled and puzzled over the man's choice. Why would he come back to the horse that had nearly gotten him killed? She didn't understand.

Feeling a little reckless, she reached a hand out to touch its nose gently. It nuzzled her briefly, looking for a treat, and she felt its hot, moist breath against her palm, its skin both velvety and a little prickly. She lost herself in its liquid brown eye, finding her own reflection there in the glassy surface as it looked back at her. Shaking herself, she stroked a hand down the horse's neck as she moved away to pick up the heavy saddle and haul it back into the shed.

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><p>Later, he apologized for what happened in the stables. Brought her to some Cherokee roses growing beside the pond. She knew he'd been lashing out in his frustration at being unable to help. But she didn't understand <em>why<em> he felt like he had to.

"Truth is...what else I got to do?" Sorrow echoed in his words.

That she understood. The world had become something new and terrible, and it left them all with nothing to hold onto. Most of them had lost everything that they'd used to define themselves before. He'd lost his brother less than two weeks ago – didn't know if he was alive or dead, and hadn't been able to look for him. Maybe looking for Sophia helped him fill the gap. She could help him do that.

She touched the velvety soft petals of one of the blossoms. "You'll find her – you will. I see it."


	9. After

**This one is more Carol and less Caryl. After the barn.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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><p>When she emerged from the trees, Shane was there with a gun in his hand. For a split second, she wished he'd mistaken her for a corpse and put her down like the walkers from the barn. Like Sophia.<p>

"Hey. Hey, hey. Carol? You all right?"

Carol let him manhandle her over to the well, too drained to resist, too numb to care. She'd vented all her fury on those Cherokee roses, and now that the anger was gone, she felt empty. She wondered absently if Daryl would find the flowers by the pond – crushed, torn from the ground, and left to die. Would he be angry? Hurt? Maybe he wouldn't care at all anymore.

Because of Daryl, she'd had hope. In spite of her fears and dread, she'd had hope that Sophia might be returned to her, whole and happy.

Hope was overrated.

Without it, maybe it wouldn't have hurt so badly to see what was left of Sophia emerge from that barn. Maybe she would have already started to accept that her child was gone, and the confirmation wouldn't have destroyed her so completely.

Shane splashed water on her hands and scrubbed at her skin, trying fruitlessly to make her clean and trying to apologize for something that wasn't his fault. Yes, he'd behaved terribly, cruelly. Yes, he'd given up the search for her daughter before it even started. But he didn't put Sophia in that barn. He didn't let her run into the woods in the first place. That was on her.

The cuts and scratches on her skin stung as he rubbed his wet fingers over them, driving the dirt in deeper rather than rinsing it away.

Even though it hurt, it was oddly comforting, each stinging touch forcing her to feel something, the physical pain providing a focus. And misguided as it was, at least he acknowledged her loss. Sophia had existed here in the world, not just in her heart or mind, but in the flesh – warm human flesh – not as that horror that stepped hissing from the barn into the light.

"Carol." Shane was peering up into her face. "You hearin' me?"

She glanced up, almost meeting his eyes, then nodded just to ease his concern.

At least now she knew. The agony of uncertainty was over. Sophia was dead, and that was that. She frowned. Did that mean she was no longer a mother? She looked down at her left hand, to the gold band that still gleamed there. Ed was dead. Was she no longer a wife? If she wasn't a wife or a mother, what was she?

Nothing.

That was all she'd been before, and without a husband or daughter, she was nothing again.

She twisted the ring on her finger, sliding it up over her knuckle and back down again, over and over. If she wore the ring, she must still be a wife. If she could still be a wife with a dead husband, then she could still be a mother with a dead daughter. She shoved the ring back down into the groove on her finger.

Pulling her thoughts back to her surroundings, she realized she was alone. Shane must have said whatever he felt needed saying and left. She was still wet and filthy, hands grubby and bleeding with dirt embedded under the nails. He must have given up, knowing the dirt would never wash away.

She wouldn't ever be clean. Carol knew that her own sins were many and grave, but she could take comfort in knowing Sophia wasn't afraid or in pain anymore. She was in Heaven, safe from the horrors of the world, both those happening now and those that had come before.

At least now she knew.

Turning to gaze back across the yard toward their little camp, she saw it was empty except for one person. Daryl was there, movements sharp and aggressive as he took down his tent. He had been angry with her for not seeing Sophia laid to rest. She'd disappointed him yet again. She tipped her head as she watched him. He was pulling up stakes, literally. Was he leaving? Had she upset him enough to make him abandon the whole group? A note of panic thrummed through the dull fog at the thought of him going away. As though he could feel her eyes on him, he stopped what he was doing and turned to face her. For a moment, they looked at each other across the distance between them – but only for a moment. She couldn't bear his gaze for long.

Shifting her eyes toward the trees and the three fresh graves, she felt a stab of pain slice through the numbness in her chest. He was right to be angry. She still hadn't said goodbye to her baby girl. Guilt washed away the fog as she thought of what Sophia would feel if she knew her own mother had refused to see her buried. At the time, she'd been too shocked, too numb to accept that the thing stumbling through those doors had once been her daughter. If she acknowledged it, then she would also have to accept the fear and pain her child had suffered because she hadn't been good enough to save her. Not good enough, brave enough, strong enough... not _anything_ enough.

She must have been sitting there at the well for a long time, because her skin had dried, and when she stood, her joints were stiff and muscles aching. With a shaky breath she took a step. Then another. She forced herself to walk to her daughter's grave beneath the trees. The closer she got, the harder it was to breathe through the guilt and grief. Those Cherokee roses wrapped their thorny vines around her heart and squeezed.

The graves were surrounded by stones and marked with jars full of wildflowers. One grave was smaller than the others. Her insides felt shivery and hollow. She blinked hard. It didn't seem real. Her brain couldn't associate this pile of rocks and disturbed earth with Sophia. It had nothing to do with Sophia – no more so than that thing that had fallen in front of the barn with a bullet in its head.

Earth to earth. She knelt, easing herself down to sit on the earth, of which her daughter's body was now a part. Ashes to ashes. She leaned forward, placing her hands flat on the grave, trying to find the connection. Dust to dust.

Chin down and eyes closed, she prayed as best she could. She had no words anymore and little hope that anyone would hear them anyway. But she tried – for Sophia, who had been so young and innocent. Surely her soul was safe, having gone on to Heaven before her body rose to walk again. Carol shuddered and turned her thoughts away from that. Sophia was at peace now. She was. She had to be. Finally she sat back again, defeated.

It didn't matter anyway.

Abandoning her prayer, she spoke instead to her daughter who she knew would hear her whisper from where she was now. "Sweetheart? I'm so sorry, baby." She paused, struggling to find words. "This was all my fault. I was weak and selfish, and you paid the price. Please forgive me?"

Her throat clogged up until she couldn't speak, though her eyes remained dry. She swallowed hard a few times before she could continue. "I'm sorry I didn't come before. I wasn't here for you."

Reaching behind her neck, she unfastened the tiny clasp on the chain of the necklace she'd worn every day since her sixteenth birthday. She closed the clasp again and fingered the little gold cross. It would do her no good anymore – not with the world the way it was, not with her heart so damaged. She didn't need the reminder. But she could give it to Sophia, so that anyone who came across the grave would know the girl buried there was special. That she was loved. She wrapped the chain twice around the neck of the jar with the flowers, leaving the cross gleaming against the glass.

"I love you, sweetheart. I was so blessed to have you in my life, even though I know I didn't deserve anything so good as you. I miss you so much. I wish..."

She stopped. Wishing didn't do any good. Waste of time, all this hopin' and prayin'.

"Goodbye, baby. I love you."

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><p><strong>I have been puzzled by her jewelry in Season 2, and the more I thought about it, the more determined I was to understand why she stopped wearing the cross, even though she still spoke to Carl of seeing Sophia in Heaven. But at the same time, she wore her wedding ring through the end of the season. Why?<strong>

**After scrutinizing the season and narrowing down where the cross disappears, I can't think of anything else that logically might have happened to it. I've read at least one other fic where Carol left her cross at Sophia's grave, though I can't remember any details beyond that, so I hope there's no toe stepping here – my apologies if it seems that way. But anyway, these were the answers I came up with.**

**Since I'm busy blah blah-ing the end of this chapter to death, I'd like to give a humongous thank you to whomever it was that nominated some of my fics for the Caryl Fanfiction Awards by thecaryldaily on Tumblr. I know who one person is, but not the other(s), so thanks to you, whether or not I know who you are. It's a huge honor to be listed on that page along with some of the writers I admire most, and honestly it came as a bit of a shock. Thank you!**


	10. Flinch

**This is a look at what might have happened after he blew up in her face.**

**Disclaimer: *sigh* I own nothing related to The Walking Dead.**

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><p>"<em>All you had to do was keep an eye on her!"<em>

His hand moved, and in that split second, her body reacted on instinct, bracing for a blow. Eighteen years of living with Ed had ingrained those reactions so deeply in her, she probably wouldn't ever be rid of them, even if no one ever hit her again in her life.

And she knew Daryl wouldn't strike her. He was angry, yes. He was venting that anger on her, and she would let him, if that's what he needed. What she wouldn't do was allow him to pull away – or to drive her away. She didn't fear him. But in that instant, her body disagreed, and the rush of adrenaline left her shaky.

In the brittle moments after, she trembled, but met his eye and didn't back down. He glared at her with hard eyes, though with a glimmer of uncertainty, as though he didn't quite know what to do with someone who didn't run from a threat. He had a vicious bark, but when she challenged him to bite, he couldn't.

"What, can't you take a damn hint? Get lost." He was no longer shouting, though he was still clearly agitated. "I moved out here for a reason, you know – to get the hell away from you!"

The tic in his face was active as he paced in front of her.

"Just- Just piss off," he spat before spinning on his heel and stalking over to his campfire. He sat on the fallen log next to it and rummaged through a small pack, pulling out a whetstone and oil. He whipped his hunting knife from its sheath and began to sharpen it, more aggressively than was probably advisable.

Carol stood watching him as she waited for her body to calm. Eventually, she stepped softly over to sit on the ground across the fire from him. The strokes of his knife along the stone paused for a moment when she sat, then started up again. He huffed in annoyance.

"Why the fuck are you here? Ain't you got nothin' better to do than follow me around like a damn dog?" he asked. The anger was gone, replaced by surly resignation.

She rested her chin on her arms which were crossed over her drawn up knees. She regarded him for a while before shrugging one shoulder. "You were right," she admitted. "I'm alone."

Even in the firelight, she could see him flush a little, and he wouldn't meet her eye. "Then go back to camp! They's shitloads of people there. Go make s'mores and sing fuckin' campfire songs with everybody else, and quit botherin' _me!_"

"I'll go back when you go back."

"Jesus, I don't need no goddamn tick on my ass."

She didn't answer.

He scowled down at his blade, testing its gleaming edge. Satisfied with its sharpness, he sheathed the knife and put away his whetstone. Flicking dark glances her way, he picked up his crossbow and began tending to it, waxing the string and checking the tension. Eventually even she could tell his movements were repeating themselves. With a frustrated growl, he put the crossbow aside and glared across the fire at her.

"Why the hell you care if I'm out here or back there?"

"You belong with the group. You're important."

Disbelief and disgust warred on his face. "Bull_shit_. I don't matter to nobody 'cept Merle, and he's gone."

"You matter to me." She bit her lip, instantly regretting her words. She hadn't meant to be so direct. He'd reacted so badly to it before in the stables.

Sure enough, anger flashed over his features. He stood abruptly, leaning down to jam a finger into her face, and snarled, "Well, I don't give a _shit_ about you or any of them other fuckwits back there!"

"You cared about Sophia," she murmured, looking up at him from where she sat on the ground.

"She's dead," he snapped.

"Yes."

He towered over her, his eye twitching and jaw working. Suddenly he reached down to snatch up a rock and hurled it as hard as he could into the blackness between the trees with a growl through his gritted teeth. "Fuck!"

For a moment, he was absolutely still as he stared out toward where the rock had disappeared. She could feel the tension radiating off him. Suddenly, something surged up inside him – she'd seen it happen with Ed over and over again. The fury built until it boiled over, and he erupted in violence, snarling like an animal. He tore through his own camp, kicking over his woodpile, upending his tent, and flinging his pack, scattering his meager possessions across the ground. Carol hunkered down into herself to wait out the storm raging around her. She felt sure he wouldn't deliberately hurt her, but his intensity was terrifying.

He unleashed his fury on the broken chimney sheltering his campfire, kicking at the loose stones and hammering at them with a heavy stick that had been by the fire. The stone ruin withstood the onslaught, which seemed to anger him more. With a roar, he yanked the ax from where it was lodged in the fallen log. He pulled it back like a baseball bat, intending to smash it into the unyielding stone of the chimney.

"Daryl, stop! Please?" Carol uncurled from her protective hunch, afraid he would be injured by flying stone chips or a shattered ax head. The hand she reached out to him was shaking.

At her words, he paused on the upswing, the muscles in his back rippling and quivering in his rage. His ribs heaved with his heavy, ragged breaths.

"Please," she whispered.

His shoulders slumped as the fury drained away. The ax slipped from his fingers and dropped with a muffled thump on the grass. His back was to her, but she could still hear his soft, choked words. "I wanted to bring her back."

She got to her feet and stepped softly around the camp, re-stacking the firewood and picking up the things he'd thrown, mostly to calm her own nerves. When she picked up his mostly empty pack, though, she paused, reminded of Sophia's school backpack. "Remember what I said before about you doing more for her than her daddy ever did?" She stroked the grubby canvas with one finger, seeing only purple nylon in her mind's eye. "Two different times, he was supposed to pick her up from school. Once when I had the flu, and once when...when I was in the hospital."

Daryl half turned his head, sneaking glances at her from the corner of his eye.

"Both times he forgot," she continued. "He just left her there. The time I was sick, I had to go get her myself even though I was half delirious with a fever. And the other time, she waited and waited and ended up calling her best friend's mother because she was afraid to call home – afraid that she would be in trouble because _he_ forgot. And she was right to be afraid."

She knelt down and started loading the pile of his things back into the pack. "All he had to do was drive five minutes out of his way, and he didn't. Wouldn't." Pausing, she looked up to where he still stood looking forlorn by the ruined chimney. Tipping her head, she tried to catch his eye. To make him understand. "You're a good man. I know that you cared about what happened to Sophia."

He scowled and chewed the inside of his cheek as he watched her picking up the aftermath of his tantrum. Stepping over to where she knelt, he shook his head and put out a hand to take the bag. "Don't gotta clean up my shit," he grumbled.

She passed the pack over to him. Then he surprised her by putting out his hand again. She stared at it for a moment before realizing he was offering to help her up. Uncertain, she looked up to his face, but he was focused on a spot somewhere off to her right. So she looked away, too, and took his hand. It was firm and calloused against hers, and the brief contact made her face feel warm. The instant she was on her feet, he snatched his hand back, but he didn't move away.

Still refusing to look at her, he mumbled, "I'm sorry about your girl. An' I'm sorry for what I said. Weren't called for."

She nodded, accepting the apology she hadn't expected to get. Her eyes went unexpectedly watery, and her chest ached unbearably. Her grief kept sneaking up on her in sudden waves, pulling her under and trying to drown her. She blinked back the tears so that he wouldn't see.

He tossed his pack back over near the chimney and picked up his crossbow, slinging it over his shoulder. "C'mon. Walk you back."

"Does that mean you're moving back to camp?"

He squinted at her in the firelight. "Naw." He chewed a thumbnail for a moment. "But you can make me a s'more 'fore I come back out here."

A hint of a smile touched her lips in spite of the ache in her heart.


	11. Dale

**This immediately follows Dale's death.**

**Disclaimer: The Walking Dead and its characters do not belong to me. **

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><p>Carol flinched when the gun went off – it was much louder than she expected. Afterward, without Dale's agonized cries and sucking, rattling breaths, it seemed horribly silent even though nearly everyone was crying. Andrea's sobs grated against her ears, yet the world sounded empty. Her own salty tears slipped down her cheeks, catching in the corner of her mouth as she pressed her lips tightly together.<p>

Daryl was on one knee with Rick's Colt in his hand, dangling at his side. He stared down at Dale's body without moving. The others in the group milled around in their shock and sorrow, crying and wailing and clinging to each other, but Carol just watched Daryl, so still and silent. She hugged her sweater tightly around herself and wiped her wet cheeks on her shoulders.

Rick paused next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Daryl didn't look up – he just stared at the mutilated body on the ground. Kneeling down, Rick reached to take his revolver back. When the gun was pulled away, Daryl finally looked down at his hand, then at Rick, his face a stone mask.

Hershel had pulled Maggie to the side and asked her to run to the house for a blanket. When she returned, he asked gently, "Rick? Theodore? Why don't you help me with this?"

As the three of them gently arranged Dale's body on the blanket, Glenn wiped his eyes and croaked, "I'm...I'm gonna...find a shovel. Get started on..." Then he turned and fled. Andrea followed, still sobbing, but determined to help lay Dale to rest.

Once the body was wrapped up, the group made its way back toward the farmhouse. They would bury Dale tonight beneath the trees and have a service in the morning. Carol trailed behind everyone else, headed for the house with Lori, Carl, and Patricia. But she paused on the weathered porch, not going inside with them. Instead, she watched the others carrying Dale to his final resting place until she couldn't make them out in the darkness anymore, other than the bobbing of flashlights and lanterns.

If she were honest with herself, she'd have to admit she was watching Daryl, not the others. She didn't like that he'd been the one to end Dale's suffering, and his stillness afterward made her uneasy. For a moment she hesitated, knowing that even if it were her business, he wouldn't want her butting in. He'd made that very clear. But a niggling worry festered in her gut.

She wiped away the fresh tears and stepped down from the porch. She went to the RV (Dale's RV) and found a small flashlight that worked (Dale's flashlight). Flicking it on, she made her way out across the field toward Daryl's camp. He was probably still at the grave site, but she wasn't willing to go there just now. She hadn't been back since the day Carl had told her it was stupid to believe in Heaven.

About halfway across the field it sank in that she was alone in the dark just like Dale had been when he was attacked. Her heart began to race and her breath picked up. She hurried the rest of the way across with crawling skin, expecting at any second that dead hands would grab her ankles in the long grass or sink their fingers into the flesh of her back. By the time she reached Daryl's camp, she'd scared herself badly enough that she was shaking and breathing in shuddering gulps.

He'd banked his fire, so she stirred the ashes and quickly built it back up. Even though she knew that technically she wasn't any safer than she'd been two minutes ago, the fire made her feel better. Plus the nights had begun cooling down, so the warmth was welcome. She perched on the fallen log and held her hands to the heat.

She lost track of how long she was there, thoughts drifting to Dale and Sophia and all the others they'd lost along the way – Amy, Jim, Jackie, even Jenner. Ed. How long would it be before she joined them?

When she heard a noise behind her, she whirled around, swallowing a scream when she was hauled roughly to her feet with a hand clamped around her upper arm.

"What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?" Daryl hissed in her face. The fury in his eyes scorched her skin.

"I- I-" With her nerves already shattered from her trip across the field, her mind scrambled to find any words at all.

He released her arm, shoving her back a step. "Are you fuckin' _stupid?_" His voice raised to a shout as he berated her. "What _just happened?_ Dale just fuckin' _died_ wanderin' around alone in the dark like an idiot, and here you are doin' the _exact same thing_ five minutes later!"

"I didn't- I-" Her cheeks burned at the dressing down, and her breath came in gasps as the barrage continued.

"At least Dale had the damn sense to have a rifle with him, and he still got himself gutted! You ain't got so much as a knife on you. What the fuckin' hell is so goddamn important you gotta be out here just beggin' to get _killed?_"

"I was worried about you!" she blurted, forcing the words out loud enough to be heard through his shouting.

He went dead still as he scrutinized her. "...What?"

"I needed to make sure you were okay," she mumbled, meeting his eyes for the first time since his tirade began.

A strange series of expressions crossed his face before the stone mask slammed into place. "Are you shittin' me?"

She shook her head, watching him warily. He eyed her back.

"Why did you do it?" she asked softly.

"Do what?" he frowned.

She raised her eyebrows. "You know what."

He started pacing, just a few steps at a time. "Had to. Rick couldn't do it."

"And so it had to be you?"

"Rick couldn't, so I did. That's it. He don't need that weighin' on him," he snapped.

"Well, what about you?" she demanded, chin up.

He snorted. "What about me?"

"It'll weigh on you just as much. You're not a killer."

His eye twitched. "He was suffering. And I'm _fine_."

She shook her head, rejecting the lie. "But you killed him – doesn't matter the reason. How can you be _fine_ after that? No one should be fine after something like that...it becomes a part of you."

Daryl turned his back, picked up a piece of wood from the pile, and threw it onto the fire, sending a shower of sparks up into the air. "Ain't a part of nothin'. I just did what I had to do."

"Fine. You know what? Just- fine! Go ahead and keep acting like the big tough man, keep doing these..._things_...for Rick. Like this? Like Randall? It won't be long before you really are that callous." She glowered at his back as he shoved the burning wood around with a stick. "Just...forget I even came out here. It was a mistake."

Carol turned sharply and started to head back across the dark field, monsters be damned. But before she got three steps, he was in front of her, snarling again.

"You don't like my attitude, so you're just gonna head out there to be walker bait again? Hell no."

Maybe it was the heightened emotion of the day, or the buildup of stresses over the last few weeks, but her temper – usually so carefully under control – boiled up hot in her belly. Angry tears burned the back of her eyes.

"Get out of my way!" she snapped.

"You ain't goin' nowhere by yourself!" His condescending tone just pissed her off more.

"News flash: _you_ can't tell me what to do, and I'll go where I want. In fact, if I want to go jump in the middle of a whole herd of walkers, and you don't like it? Tough luck! _You can't stop me!_" she screamed. She stormed past him toward the farmhouse.

"Hey! I ain't lettin' you go alone!"

He snagged her forearm and spun her around. She yanked free and pressed in to shout in his face. "Make up your _mind_, Daryl! You don't care, remember? I'm sure it won't bother you one little bit when I get killed!"

His hands flew to her shoulders clamping down hard, startling her out of her fury. "Of _course_ I care!"

She froze, caught in his fiery glare.

As if suddenly realizing he was touching her, he jerked his hands back. He spoke more softly, but his intensity held her captive. "You don't think I care that Dale died? You don't think I'd care 'f it was you out there instead of him?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Of course I fuckin' care. And if it was you, I can guaran-damn-tee I wouldn't'a been able to do what I did for him."

She just stared at him, wide-eyed and open mouthed.

"I'm doin' what I gotta do, just like everybody else. Don't be _tellin'_ me how I feel about it!" He flung an arm out toward the field. "You wanna walk yourself out there to get bit? Fine. Go!"

He glared, not backing down an inch, until she dropped her gaze. After that he eased back a few steps, then returned to sit on the fallen log, jabbing hard at the fire again with his stick. She watched him for a moment, anger and confusion tangling up her thoughts. Pulling the flashlight from her pocket, she finally turned to start the trek back to the RV. Dale's RV. Her gut churned on the long walk across the field, but she didn't panic this time.

When she reached the Winnebago, Carol switched off the light and opened the door, one foot on the little step. She glanced back toward Daryl's camp and caught the barest shadow of movement in the trees lining the field not far from their camp. He'd come with her anyway. She raised a hand to let him know she was safe, then stepped up into the RV, closing the door behind her.

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><p><strong>Delirious late night AN: You have no idea HOW HARD IT WAS not to say that Daryl held Rick's Python in his hand. I amuse the crap out of myself sometimes. I'm also apparently a 12-year-old boy.**


	12. Overrun

**The fall of the farm. A few lines and most of the action are from Episode 2 x 13 (Beside the Dying Fire).**

**Disclaimer: I do this for love, not money. Be flattered. The Walking Dead does not belong to me. No infringement is intended.**

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><p>The crack of gunfire, the screams of the dying, and the moans of the dead would fill the last moments of her life. As soon as she left the porch, walkers had come at her. She veered and ran, only to find more walkers. Then more. And more. She quickly found herself cornered against the shed. Surrounded by smoke and the stench of rotting corpses, Carol knew she was going to die.<p>

In desperation, she picked up a discarded plank of wood from the ground and brandished it like a weapon, though she knew it wouldn't be enough. She couldn't kill a single walker with it, let alone the dozens headed her way. But still she held it up, unable to surrender meekly to the inevitable.

With deafening booms, the two closest walkers' heads burst open, spraying thick, black blood. It took a second to register what had happened – but as the corpses fell heavily to the ground, she saw Andrea behind them with her pistol in hand, calm and steady. She'd been saved! Andrea had come for her!

Terror washed through her a second later as she saw another walker approaching Andrea from behind.

"Look out!" she shrieked.

Andrea turned and fired her weapon, but the walker took her down, and more were coming. Looking back toward the house, Carol watched in dismay as the pickup drove away. In utter panic, she turned and ran between the shed and the chicken coop. A cluster of the dead followed, cutting her off from Andrea – if Andrea was even alive. She was on her own again. Stumbling, she bumped into the flimsy wall of the coop, rattling the structure, making the chickens inside rustle and cluck at the disturbance in their sleep.

Carol froze for an instant, horrified at her own sudden thought. Looking back, she saw several walkers coming around the shed. If she wanted to live, she didn't have a choice. Ducking around the corner to the back of the building, she threw open the door to the coop and ran in howling. She swung her board and kicked at the perches, making as much ruckus as she could.

In an explosion of feathers, the chickens panicked. Mostly blind in the dark, they fled the terrifying noisy thing in their midst, running out of the coop and scattering. When most of the birds were outside, Carol followed them out and ran. The walkers that had come behind the shed were now stumbling around, distracted by the squawking, flapping birds. She felt awful for sacrificing the poor things, but it was clear now that her survival might depend on her willingness to do terrible things.

She was moving without direction. The barn was burning, drawing many of the walkers that way, but there were so many more still swarming around her. Suddenly, she saw headlights bouncing as one of their vehicles raced along the fence line, the occupants trying to thin the herd that was bearing down on them. She made her way toward the car, keeping to cover as much as possible and dodging walkers when she had to, shoving them away with her plank - all with the hope of getting close enough to get the attention of the driver.

Oh God, no. The car was leaving! She heard the roar of the engine as the car broke through a clump of walkers pressing down on it, and her stomach dropped when it headed away from the farm. If they were leaving, maybe everyone else had left, too – she couldn't tell if any of the other vehicles were still here, couldn't see anyone else at all.

The terror and despair were overwhelming as she realized there was nowhere to run, no one to help her. She was going to die tonight after all. But something inside her wouldn't allow her to give up. Pushing corpses away, she ran along the fence toward the road. She screamed when one of the walkers grabbed hold of her wooden plank and yanked. For a moment she fought with it, but then came to her senses. Unable to pull the plank free, she let it go and kept running.

She wasn't meant for this. The fear and exertion were grinding her down, slowing her. The walkers drew closer, and she grew more desperate, knowing that if they caught up to her again, it was over.

When she heard the the motorcycle, hope surged up to fill her chest. Her salvation had come.

"Come on!" Daryl shouted. "I ain't got all day!"

She rushed to him, climbing awkwardly on the back of the bike as the walkers bore down on them. Gripping tightly to his vest, she screamed, "Go!"

The bike's engine roared as he opened it up, taking them down the dirt path, away from the horrors behind them. The shock of realization that she might not die tonight broke over her, and a sob forced its way out. She leaned into Daryl's back, wrapped her shaking arms tight around his chest, and cried.

He weaved back and forth across the road, avoiding walkers and debris. Even after Carol had cried herself out, she clung to him, afraid she might lose her balance or be torn from the safety of the bike by grasping hands. She pressed her cheek into the leather of his vest, against his angel wings – wings he'd more than earned. She knew she was taking advantage of their situation since he couldn't pull away, but the reassurance of safety she gained from the contact outweighed the guilt she felt about needing it. His body was warm and solid against hers, and the sharp smell of leather and sweat was comforting.

The sky began to lighten with the approaching dawn. Eventually the walkers thinned out enough that they could stop for a moment. He pulled the bike over and killed the engine. Carol was off the motorcycle almost before it stopped moving, ashamed that she'd not only needed to be rescued twice tonight, but she couldn't even cope with what had happened without bawling and clinging to Daryl like a limpet.

He stepped off the bike and pulled his crossbow from the back, scanning the area quickly before turning his attention to her.

"You okay? You get bit?" he clipped out.

Crossing her arms tightly across her body, she shook her head but couldn't look at him. "I'm not bit."

After a pause, he took a step closer. "But are you okay?"

She shrugged. She was alive, which was more than she expected an hour ago. But okay? She was definitely not okay.

He rifled through one of the saddlebags and pulled out a water bottle. Cracking the top, he silently offered it to her. She glanced up, finally meeting his eyes, crisp in his pinched face.

"Thank you," she murmured, meaning more than just the water.

As she accepted the bottle from him, he gave her a short nod. She took a drink and realized how thirsty she actually was. After a second swallow, she handed it back to him. Shivering in the chill, she ducked her head and stepped closer to the motorcycle, its engine still giving off heat.

"Sorry," she mumbled under her breath.

Of course he heard her. "What for?"

She kept her eyes firmly on the bike next to her, as shame and guilt made her flush. "I'm sorry for being the kind of person other people have to rescue!" Her lip quivered as she tried to keep back the jumble of feelings rising up inside. "You might have been killed coming back for me. And Andrea – I think she died because she came to help me. And if she's dead, it's because I'm too pathetic...too _helpless_ to survive on my own."

She heard sloshing as he took a drink from the bottle and then the rustling of the leather saddlebag as he put it away. "You ain't gotta be."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you ain't gotta be helpless if you don't wanna." His gaze swept over the treeline. "You ain't weak."

How could he think that? Frowning, she insisted, "I _am_ weak. And I'm afraid. You don't get it – you don't have to be afraid because you can handle anything! I can't protect myself or anyone else. I couldn't save Sophia. I couldn't even get us away from Ed." She huddled into herself miserably.

He shook his head. "Stayin' with him took strength, and you protected your girl from him. I saw it at the quarry. You can survive if you want to."

"But I don't know how!"

"You just ain't learned the skills you need yet."

She considered him thoughtfully. With the world the way it was now, Carol had come to accept the idea that death would come soon for someone like her. She thought she'd made her peace with that, but when she'd been face to face with the reality of it in front of that chicken coop, she'd discovered she was absolutely not ready to give up and die.

Daryl snapped to attention and slipped his crossbow from his shoulder. "We got company. Gonna have to move."

Looking over her shoulder, Carol saw three walkers stumbling out of the trees. No, four. Five. "Where do we go?"

"The highway where Sophia..." He trailed off as he seated his crossbow on the back of the bike and swung his leg over. "We'll swing back around to the highway. If anybody else made it out, that's where they'll go."

With one more look at the crowd of corpses headed their way, she slipped onto the seat behind him. Embarrassed by her earlier clinginess, she tried to keep her distance, only holding on enough to keep from falling off the bike. As the morning sun appeared over the horizon, they started down the road again, leaving the nightmare of the herd behind them.


	13. Burden

**This takes place immediately after the season two finale.**

**Edit: Sorry folks, after some reviews that confused the hell out of me, I discovered that I somehow loaded the wrong chapter. Then I fixed it, but it didn't get fixed at all. So with unhealthy levels of frustration, I'm trying to fix it again. Grrr.**

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><p>After Rick's aggressive claim of sole, unconditional leadership, the group settled into an uneasy silence in the freezing darkness, no one knowing quite how to react. But Carol was afraid. She'd been questioning and criticizing. And now as he paced with one of the crumbling walls at his back, he glared at her even more than the others, pinning her with hard, icy eyes until she looked away. The control he'd taken over the group – the secrets, the lies, the manipulation, and now the outright domination all reminded her of Ed, and she was afraid.<p>

At the quarry he'd seemed brave and kind – a family man. A leader. On the farm, he'd tried so hard to do what was best to keep them safe. But this man...this strange new man was mad. He saw nothing wrong with keeping secrets from the rest of them 'for their own good'. Infected? All of them? The thought of having one of those _things_ lurking inside her... She felt sick. This man wasn't at _all_ the man she'd thought he was. If he could kill someone in cold blood who was supposed to be his friend, she feared what else he might be capable of.

And Daryl was angry after the things she'd said tonight. He'd moved as far away from her as he could get while still being in camp. Across the fire from her, the others huddled against the deepening cold. Lori and Carl. Hershel and Beth. Maggie and Glenn. She frowned as loneliness ached in her heart. It was ridiculous in the face of their situation, but she couldn't help it. She longed to cuddle up and share warmth with someone. Sophia was gone now. Maybe that was it for her – she'd be cold and alone until she died.

And then she'd turn.

At least a few hours had passed since Rick's outburst, and T-Dog was finally ready to take a break. He hopped down from his post on the wall and walked around to nudge Daryl. Silently acknowledging the request, Daryl got up with his crossbow and clambered nimbly up onto the wall with far more ease than she would have expected in the cold.

T-Dog settled down beside her and put his hands out to warm at the fire. He rubbed and shook them to get his circulation back. She glanced over when she felt his eyes on her. For a second, he just looked her over where she sat shivering, then he opened his arm out and tipped his head to invite her in. She only hesitated for a moment. It was far too cold to be shy, and besides, wasn't she just lamenting her lack of a cuddle buddy? Good Lord, she was getting punchy in her exhaustion. Shifting closer, she hugged herself tightly and leaned against the big man as he settled his arm around her shoulders. Compared to her, T-Dog was a furnace. Before long, her shivering eased, though the tension never really left her body. Grateful as she was for the warmth, she was too afraid to relax, and too uncomfortable in the embrace of a man she hardly knew.

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><p>She woke with a start, confused. For a split second she panicked at the feeling of being pinned against someone before remembering where she was and who was holding her. She wasn't in danger, wasn't being held down by Ed. She and T-Dog had fallen asleep sitting up leaning against one another. Sneaking a look sideways, she could see she hadn't woken him. It was still full dark, so she couldn't have slept more than a couple of hours. Across the fire, most of the others had managed to drop off, too, from sheer fatigue. Even Rick was dozing, crouched at his broken wall with his head tipped back to rest against it.<p>

Glancing up, she caught Daryl on the wall staring at her, though the instant her eyes turned his way, his gaze cut out across the darkness of the trees. She must have made some noise when she woke up to have pulled his attention away from watch. But when she looked up a few minutes later, he was watching her again.

But this time, when he turned away, he stiffened and brought his crossbow up to his shoulder. He gave a soft whistle and hissed in a stage whisper, "Rick!"

Rick jolted to awareness, looking up to the source of the call. Daryl's eyes didn't leave the trees as he held up two fingers and pointed to a place somewhere behind the broken wall. Rick jumped to his feet and pulled his gun. T-Dog snorted awake when Carol tensed in fear beside him. When he saw Rick, he scrambled to his feet, bringing his rifle with him. Carol started shivering again, but not from the cold. Heart hammering and stomach tight, she turned on her knees to watch, though she couldn't see the danger that approached. The rustling movements and rising tension were bringing the others awake one by one. T-Dog held up a hand to keep everyone quiet as they rose to their feet and clung to each other in fear. Those with weapons drew them out and waited.

From his perch on the wall, Daryl let a bolt fly. Carol heard it thunk wetly into its target followed by the sound of a body slumping to the ground. As he quickly cocked and reloaded his bow, the rest of the group inched closer together, instinctively seeking comfort from each other. He stood again atop the wall and loosed the second bolt. She heard that one sink home as well, but she didn't relax until she saw Daryl drop the bow from his shoulder.

Carol looked back to the rest of the group in the faint light from the campfire. Everyone seemed on the verge of panic, and she wasn't sure she was far from it herself, but she moved to the other side of the fire to take Lori's hand and stroke Carl's hair as he buried his face in his mother's shirt. Her movement seemed to mark the end of the crisis, and the others began breathing again. The humming tension surrounding them gradually relaxed. Once her nerves started to settle, Carol looked up to the wall to find Daryl watching her once more, but this time he didn't look away. It was dark enough that she couldn't tell what she saw in his face right then, but she gave him a hesitant half smile.

After a pause, he gave her a quick nod in response, then turned and climbed gracefully down from his perch. Giving Glenn a sharp nudge, he jerked his head back toward the wall. The younger man gripped his shotgun, nodding as he went to take Daryl's place on watch. After cocking and reloading his crossbow with his third and last remaining bolt, Daryl stepped off into the trees behind the broken wall, shooting a glare at T-Dog and glancing almost imperceptibly Carol's way before disappearing.

She took a quick look around the camp. Most of the others were settling in to try and get some more sleep. No one was paying her any attention, so she slipped behind the wall to follow Daryl. It wasn't far to where the walker corpses had fallen. He was already pulling the bolts from their heads. When he heard her coming, his head whipped around, eyes narrowed and flashing with anger. He stood, shaking thick walker blood from the shafts of the bolts as he stomped up to meet her.

"Jesus Christ, woman, I see you ain't grown any common fuckin' sense yet," he snapped. Though his volume was low, his tone was harsh. "I s'pose nobody knows where you are, neither."

She flushed a little at that since he was right, but she defended herself. "_You_ know. And I'm safer with you than anyone else."

He huffed. "You're safer with people. Oughta keep your ass with the others." Turning, he started back toward the fire, but she stopped him.

"Wait!" When he turned back, she wasn't entirely sure how to start. "Um. About before. The things I said – I didn't mean to upset you."

He sighed. "I ain't upset."

"Well, I'm sorry anyway."

After a moment watching her, he demanded, "That it?"

"No." If she thought about it too much, she'd lose her nerve, so she took a deep breath and just said it. "You were right that night at your camp. I have no husband anymore, no daughter. They're dead, and I'm...lost."

After an uncomfortable silence, he scoffed, "And that's my problem how?"

"It's not. I just...I need help. Before all this I had a place in the world as a wife and a mother. And now...now I'm nothing." Looking down to her left hand, she twisted the ring that sat there. "I thought I could somehow hold on to what I was before. But I can't, and it doesn't matter anymore because all we have is right now. And what I am _right now_ is useless to the group and helpless to take care of myself."

Angry, humiliated tears stung her eyes, and she turned her head so he wouldn't see. She glared down at the gold band on her finger, blinking back the blur. Suddenly it was crystal clear – she _hated_ that ring. So without a thought beyond that, she pulled it from her finger and with a grunt of effort, threw it as hard as she could out into the trees. Daryl blinked in surprise at her unexpected movement. Her voice shook. "Whatever I was before is gone. I'll always be her mother, but Sophia is gone. Right now I have to learn how to be someone different." She turned to face him and stepped closer.

"I don't want to be a burden anymore."

He eyed her sidelong for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek. Without a word, Daryl turned and walked back to the camp. Her heart sank as she watched him leave, shocked at the rejection. It hurt more than she expected to realize she was so hopeless in his opinion that it wasn't worth his effort to help her. Her eyes filled again. Maybe someone else would teach her. She trudged back toward the camp with lead in her feet and pain in her heart.

Just before she reached the wall, she was startled when Daryl reappeared carrying the pack he'd brought to camp from the bike's saddlebags. He was rummaging through it when he turned the corner. Pulling out a small knife in a sheath, he flipped it around and held it out to Carol handle first.

"Here. Everybody else is carryin' somethin'. You should, too."

She looked down at the knife knowing it wouldn't do her any good if he wouldn't teach her. "I don't know how to use it."

"Well, you start by holding the end that ain't pointy. You stick the pointy part in the thing you want dead." Sarcasm dripped off his words.

Her eyes flicked up from the knife to his face, and his expression sobered.

"Just take it."

She reached up slowly to take the knife from him, then pulled it carefully from the sheath with an uncertain frown. It felt foreign and strange in her hand. "Thank you."

"As soon as we find some food and stop for the night tomorrow, we can work with it," he rumbled as he turned his sharp eyes back out to the trees.

"Work with it?"

Those eyes cut into her. "You wanna learn, don'tcha?"

A small smile broke out on her face as realization dawned, and she nodded. "Thank you! Daryl, thank you, this is...everything to me." Warmth spread in her cheeks despite the cold.

"Cut it out. Ain't no thing." He scowled without meeting her eyes. "Go get some damn sleep."

So she went back to the fire and curled up near Lori and Carl with her head pillowed on one arm. Closing her eyes and clutching the sheathed knife tightly in her other hand, she tried to relax enough to get some damn sleep.


	14. Tipping the Scales

**Note: My previous chapter on Friday got goofed up. If you read it that day, you might have been reading an earlier chapter from the same story. So if you were confused as to why Sophia was still lost...well, you had good reason to be. Please take a look at Chapter 13 to make sure you read the right thing. Sorry!**

**This is the final chapter, y'all. Notes at the end.**

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><p>For a month, they'd been struggling to survive on the road. As the weather kept getting colder, Carol had serious doubts about whether they'd be able to make it through the winter like this. They moved constantly, seeking supplies: food, gasoline, weapons, blankets, clothing, medicine. Many of the places they found anymore had already been picked over by other survivors, so they were all constantly cold and hungry. She'd been surprised, though, by Rick's leadership. She still didn't trust him, but so far he'd been clever enough to keep them all alive.<p>

Despite their miserable situation, and no matter how tired or hungry they were, Daryl had been taking a little time each day to start teaching Carol the skills she needed to live in this world. He was a surprisingly patient teacher, and she tried hard to focus and absorb everything, though she knew she was embarrassingly slow.

He gave her the basics of how to handle the knife he'd given her, including how to keep it sharp. After she got more comfortable with it, he'd even gone so far as to knock over a walker and pin it down so she could learn how to kill one. She'd had to try a couple of times before finally sinking the blade into its skull. It took a lot more force than she expected, and the blade was more easily deflected off the bone than she realized. The eyes, ears, and temple were more vulnerable, so she learned to aim for those.

No one from her old life would have recognized her as she beamed proudly up at Daryl with walker gore spattered on her face and hands.

After that, he started teaching her about guns. She learned how to break down and clean every weapon they had and how to handle them safely. They didn't have enough ammo to allow her to practice shooting with them all yet, but after a fairly prosperous raid of a run-down apartment complex, Daryl gave her a gun of her own – a little .38 special that fit comfortably in her hand. She was able to fire off a few rounds to get a feel for it, but she wasn't really able to work on her aim. She considered it as being more for emergencies that the knife couldn't handle.

With each day that passed, Carol's confidence grew. She liked learning these things, and she loved learning them from Daryl. After so long with Ed, it was nice to learn from someone who didn't shout, didn't patronize her, and didn't ridicule her for making mistakes. Sure, he was cranky, but they all were after so many tired, hungry weeks. Since he was working so hard to help her in addition to keeping the group safe and fed, she did her best to make sure he was well taken care of, too. She made sure he ate and even slipped extra food on his plate when she could. She kept his clothes as clean and repaired as she could. And she tried to give him as much space as possible, since living so close to so many people was clearly taking its toll on him.

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><p>Their group stumbled across a farmhouse in a field that was an absolute godsend in Carol's mind. The house was secluded enough that it hadn't yet been ransacked. The owners had apparently evacuated when things got ugly, and everything was still closed up tight. There were fences, which they knew wouldn't keep out a herd, but it kept stray walkers back. There was a well for fresh water, a fireplace for heat, and in the basement there was a pantry that contained more food than they'd seen in one place since before the Turn. Rick decided they would stay for a few days to rest up and get fed before they continued on to look for a more permanent home. While they were desperately in need of rest and shelter, the place was eerily similar enough to the Greene farm that no one wanted to stay too long.<p>

Since they were staying put, Daryl was able to spend some time hunting. The first day he brought back a small doe, and that night the group was in relatively high spirits with full bellies and warm toes. The next day, since the immediate pressure to feed the group was off, he took Carol with him to start teaching her a bit about finding food in the woods.

She'd already mastered setting simple snares, and now he was showing her how to set a fancier version. The concept was simple enough, but she was apparently slow to pick up the finer details.

"No, 'f you do it like that, it won't work. Trigger's gotta be stable enough to stay put until somethin' runs through."

So she drove the stake in deeper with a rock and bent the sapling down again to reset the trigger.

"Better. Now the noose," he directed her. "Nope. It's gotta be lower, right on the trail. No, like this." He reached out to adjust her placement, gripping the wire noose with his hand over hers.

The touch was innocent and shouldn't have been anything at all, but when his hand closed over hers, they both froze in place, neither of them moving or daring to look at each other. Her skin tingled where he touched her, sending echoing prickles over her scalp. Heat rose in her cheeks, and her heart rate soared. The moment rapidly shifted toward awkward as the silence between them stretched.

She swallowed and opted for a light-hearted tease. "Why, Daryl Dixon! Are you trying to hold my hand?"

His eyes snapped up to hers, mortification evident in his expression.

She batted her eyelashes ridiculously. "Because all you had to do was ask."

For an instant, he looked so flustered she almost felt bad for teasing him. He flushed bright red and quickly drew his hand back. "You gonna set this snare or what?" he grumbled with a scowl.

Smothering a smile, she went back to work on the snare, eventually setting it to his satisfaction.

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><p>Their snares had added a few rabbits to their evening meal. After supper, the group was sitting by the fireplace, talking quietly when Maggie appeared from the kitchen where she'd been cleaning up after their meal.<p>

"Look what I found!" she sang out, sloshing a mostly full bottle of whiskey side to side.

"Maggie, the last thing we need is for half the group not to have their wits about them if something were to happen," Hershel chided her.

"Oh, Daddy, there ain't enough here for anyone to get drunk off of. And goodness knows we could use a little stress relief." As usual, she bulldozed her way over her father's objections and started handing out pink plastic polka-dotted cups to whoever wanted them, adding a splash of whiskey to each one.

Lori, Carl, Hershel, and Beth unsurprisingly declined to drink. But she gave cups to everyone else, including Glenn, despite T-Dog's warning to her about his inability to handle his liquor. The only other person not drinking was Rick, who had refused to join them and was now on the porch on watch. After sharing it out, Maggie sat back with Glenn to enjoy her drink. Carol smiled as she watched them, hoping poor Glenn would make better choices tonight than he had that night at the CDC.

She swirled the whiskey in her little pink cup. Even before she was married she hadn't been much of a drinker, and it'd been nearly two decades since she'd had any hard liquor. She took a sip and made a face as it burned its way down her throat, pooling warm in her belly. The little bit of drinking she _had_ done in the past hadn't been heavy on the whiskey, but that didn't discourage her from sipping her way through it now.

As it often did on the rare nights where they had decent shelter, conversation turned nostalgic with most of them sharing stories about their lives before the world ended. As usual, Carol curled up in her armchair and just listened, not having much she wanted to share about her life except the parts including Sophia, and she wasn't ready to talk about her just yet. Tonight they'd somehow got to talking about disastrous holiday dinners, and Carl nearly bubbled over in his excitement to relate the story of the exploding deep fried turkey from three Christmases ago. Lori blushed, her expression pained as Carl launched into sound effects and wide descriptive gestures. Maggie found it particularly funny and couldn't seem to stop giggling. Beth sneaked the whiskey bottle out of her reach and passed it over to the other drinkers to polish off.

Carol's second cup wasn't as hard to get down as the first, and she found herself laughing aloud as T-Dog defended himself against Glenn and Beth's protestations that there was no such thing as a turducken. Hershel finally took T's side before they believed him.

Still smiling broadly as T-Dog described chasing the dog that had stolen his grandmother's turducken, Carol glanced over to where Daryl leaned back against the side of the couch at the edge of their little gathering. Daryl talked about his past even less than she did. He had his pink polka-dot cup in hand, his blue eyes bright from the whiskey, and his mouth curled into what passed for a smile for him as he listened to T-Dog's story.

As if he could feel her eyes on him, he turned to meet her gaze. He didn't flinch or scowl or look away. She ended up breaking eye contact first as she grew flustered by the directness of his stare. She avoided looking at him for the rest of the evening.

A few at a time, folks eventually went off to get some sleep. Carol was drowsy after her third cup of whiskey, but too warm and comfortable curled up by the fire to move. She rested her head against the chair back and closed her eyes, the soothing murmur of voices around her gradually quieting until there were just a few people left, but she wasn't aware of what they said anymore.

She woke with a bit of a crick in her neck and a swimming head. The fire had burned down considerably, but someone had draped an old quilt over her. Everyone had apparently gone off to bed except for her. And Daryl. He was sprawled out on the couch across from her, snoring softly. She uncoiled herself slowly from the chair, stretching out all the kinks.

Picking up the quilt, she stood and crossed to the couch, looking down at Daryl as he slept. It wasn't often that she was awake when he wasn't – she had no idea how he managed to function with so little rest. She smiled and carefully draped the quilt over him, though she knew he would be fine without it. The whiskey in her blood allowed her to satisfy the urge to reach out and brush the hair off his forehead. With his face relaxed in sleep, he looked so young.

When she turned to go find a more comfortable bed, his hand snaked out from under the quilt and caught her wrist. Startled, she looked back to see him peering up at her from half-lidded eyes.

"You leavin'?" he mumbled.

She smiled down at him and whispered, "I'm just going to bed."

Blinking sleepily, he drawled, "S'matter? You don' wanna sleep with me?"

Her whole body flushed hot, and she gaped at him, too stunned to make any words come out. After a moment, he closed his eyes again and released her wrist. A slow, smug smile spread over his lips.

Huffing to hide her embarrassment, she crossed her arms over her chest and growled, "Not if you're going to be a smart ass."

"So you do wanna sleep with me then." He sounded far too pleased with himself.

"Oh, be serious!"

His eyes opened again and met hers, no trace of sleepiness in them this time. "I'm always serious."

Flushing again, she muttered, "Stop."

Before he could harass her any more, she made her escape to the room she'd been sharing with Lori and Carl, but she couldn't sleep when she got there. It was the whiskey. Her spinning mind and the heat in her cheeks were from too much whiskey. Surely the unexpected teasing from Daryl was a result of too much alcohol as well, since he would never have been so brash if he were sober. He'd never teased her like that before. She paused to consider that. If he weren't comfortable around her, all the alcohol in the world wouldn't change that. Settling back under her blanket, she basked in the realization. It had sneaked up on her - happened while she wasn't looking. Despite their rough start, she and Daryl had become friends.

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><p><strong>My goal with this story was to follow the two of them as they navigated the minefield of the early course of their relationship. At the end of this chapter they've pushed past the precariousness of those earlier interactions and taken their first steps toward the easy, teasy level of comfort with each other that they showed at the beginning of Season 3, thus tipping the scales.<strong>

**I hope you enjoyed the story – thank you for reading! And extra thanks with hugs to those who reviewed. Feedback is always treasured. **


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